


I Am Two People

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst, First Times, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Threesomes, Unhealthy Relationships, Wentzcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: Pete and Lewis, a pair of identical twins that needs only one another.It’s them, and just the two of them alone, against the rest of the world.Until a boy with blue eyes, a golden voice, and the same dreams as theirs comes into their life.





	1. Children In Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Pete and Lewis, and watch their almost perfect childhood slowly crumbling away as the years pass by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is here to deliver yet another story full of angst, questionable smut, and titles stolen from Morrissey songs! I had this idea for a while, and originally planned to write it after I finish my other story. But since that turned out to be way longer than I thought, I got impatient.
> 
> Thanks to @SnitchesAndTalkers who was kind enough to be a Beta reader despite already having to endure tons of whining and rambling from me about this... Really, thanks!
> 
> Tons of bad things happening here. Please check the tags, and let me know if there's something I forgot.

On June 5th, 1979, after a long, complicated labor, Peter the Third, and shortly after, his identical twin Lewis Kingston are born. Two little boys arriving into this world just a little too early after a somewhat troublesome pregnancy and even more troublesome delivery.

Premature deliveries are common with twins, their parents were assured, and mom and dad are so proud of their two little fighters when they hear their tiny lungs finally grasping and screaming for air. A will to live, even if just out of spite – from day one, the twins won’t give up that easily.

 

Pete and Lewis, sleeping in the same crib, only the name tag bracelet giving away who is who, the picture-perfect image of two exhausted, but very much alive babies who refused to surrender to any complications.

 

(They both hate their names. “At least yours isn’t _stupid_ ,” Lewis always sneers. “I have two names, and both of them suck!” Pete will then stick his tongue out at his twin, or give him a nudge, or simply a tired look as he scoffs: “At least, you didn’t just get dad’s name. You got your _own_ names, not just _someone else’s._ ”)

 

Despite the slightly premature birth, the twins grow into perfectly healthy toddlers. With each other, the twins are always so well-behaved, and together, they just look so adorable: The same unruly hair (before they start to straighten it), wide toothy smile (mom can later tell them apart by whose baby teeth are missing), a matching set of clothes (a stupid sentimentality that plagues their early childhood, and that they never forgive their mother for inflicting upon them).

 

Pete and Lewis, hugging each other, their laugh forever frozen in time by the camera, the picture-perfect image of two happy little toddlers.

 

From day one, it’s the two of them. It’s always the two of them as they grow up, always together, practically attached at the hip, always somehow grabbing each other’s one another’s hand, arm, shoulder, hair, exchanging hugs and other comforting gestures. Fighting, sometimes, wrestling with each other, or beating up someone else (always together – neither Pete nor Lewis accept violence from someone else against their twin).

 

Pete and Lewis, Pete pressing a sloppy kiss to his twins’ round cheek, the picture-perfect image of two giggling children innocently imitating an adult’s gesture.

 

They can get along with people just fine, but in the end, the two children prefer each other’s one another’s company over everybody else’s. Pete has a hard time explaining his thoughts to the other kids, while Lewis understands him even without words. Lewis finds the games the others play so boring – Pete can make up much more entertaining ones. It also doesn’t help that both of them are just fine with sharing anything between themselves with one another, yet fiercely jealous and protective when it comes to sharing with others.

Despite that, both twins can be extrovert and loud. They can easily grab someone else’s attention if they want to, give a cheerful smile and be persuasive. Pete and Lewis usually have little trouble finding company whenever they choose not to keep to themselves.

 

Pete and Lewis, shouting and laughing as they are surrounded by their playmates, the picture-perfect image of two almost ordinary brothers.

 

That’s how their proud parents see it, glad that their boys grew up to be healthy, normal kids.

But the other children aren’t stupid. Even though they are young, even if they can’t put it into words, they instinctively sense that there is something off. They notice that the twins like each other more than they like them, that the twins don’t really understand them – don’t _want_ to understand them. No matter what, there always seems to be a small gap between them and Pete and Lewis, excluding the twins from fully belonging with the other kids.

There just seems to be a fundamental flaw in them that even the brightest smile can’t cover up.

It doesn’t matter. Whatever happens, Pete and Lewis always have each other. As hesitant or even unwilling as they are to share with others, they never have trouble sharing between themselves – their toys, books, clothes, their room or their bed. They do everything together as well: When Pete starts to play soccer, Lewis insists on doing so as well (he never matches up to Pete, but it’s more about the principle rather than having success). When later, Lewis takes an interest in music, learns how to play guitar and bass, so does Pete (having less talent than his brother doesn’t stop him, either).

As the years go on, their parents have offered the boys their own room each, but neither of them ever agree.

The parents don’t press the issue. They conclude that an extra room would just be a waste of space. After all, the two boys are inseparable anyway, constantly near each other, talking, fighting, playing games no one else understands, or just being together. The twins are one another’s best friend, and besides, their two other siblings demand space as well. It’s just easier to give in, and mom just shakes her head – isn’t it nice that they get along so well? Doesn’t it make for such a cute sight when they both smile whenever together, a bright grin revealing nothing but childhood innocence? They might have a little difficulty getting along with others, but they get along with each other just fine, at least.

 

Pete and Lewis all dressed up (matching outfits, because it makes mom so happy), holding hands and smiling for the camera on their first day of elementary school, the picture-perfect image of two boys who dad is sure will make two decorated honor students one day.

 

There are two beds in their room, but in the end, one of them always stays cold and empty. At night, they tell each other stories, inventing their own little world that only they understand, coming up with long-winded adventures together whenever they don’t want to – or can’t – sleep.

They hug and touch, they need to do so, have always longed for physical contact. Sometimes, they can’t tell where one of them starts and the other ends. They exchange sloppy kisses, because that’s what mommy and daddy do when they want to feel good, or so they have been told. The dawn of the itch that will plague them once they hit puberty always lingers in the background, even throughout childhood.

 

Pete and Lewis, standing next to each other on the day they enter middle school (matching outfits just for this occasion again, because mom looked so disappointed when they tried to refuse); Lewis has thrown his arm around Pete’s shoulder, both of them present the camera their identical grin, the picture-perfect image of two normal pre-teens.

 

Later, neither of them can reconstruct an exact timeline of when and how exactly the solution was found. The sweet, sweet relief, the brief silence of the otherwise ever-growing, never-ending buzz under their skin. There’s just blurry memories of rubbing against each other, hastily grabbing and tugging and squeezing and scratching, _everything_ to stop this burning itch that becomes more and more prevalent and harder and harder to ignore. A desperate longing for something more. There are hazy recollections of soft hands and fingers around other (first soft, then hard) body parts.

Their hands that are clumsy and inexperienced first; then, one day, sticky and wet when pulled out of each other’s underwear.

 

Ah, and or a few seconds, this makes everything stop – the unnerving buzz, that desperate longing, that feeling of being incomplete. It lets them feel like they are one again.

 

It had always felt “like something is missing,” as Pete whispered once. Lewis understands. After all, once, their bodies were one cell that accidentally split. Each of them has an irretrievable part of the other stuck somewhere inside, yearning to be back in its original body. For them, _this_ is just the way to temporarily get it back.

The feeling never lasts, but the twins quickly learn how to make it happen again. They don’t have a name for what they are doing – this isn’t something talked about at family dinner or in school or on TV. 

They don’t know why they feel the need to do this, they just know it feels good, and that they _need_ to do this, again and again.

 

“It’s because you stole something from me”, Lewis always says stubbornly, but with a fond undertone. “Or you stole from _me_ , idiot,” Pete will respond, equally stubborn, and then Lewis will roll his eyes but rest his head on his twin’s shoulder, or give him a smack causing them to squabble for a bit, or give him a kiss as he puts his hands between Pete’s legs.

 

It has the thrilling vibe of a secret.

“Not _a_ secret. _Our_ secret,” Pete whispers when Lewis brings it up one night. Darkness makes it hard to make out his brother’s face, but Lewis knows Pete is smiling. “This belongs to us alone,” Pete pants as Lewis’s fumbling hands find their destination.

Lewis gives him a kiss and nods, though neither he nor his twin are sure why they feel the need to keep it a secret. But this is something that just belongs to them.

 

All of this is just natural to them, until they learn it isn’t.

 

The twins are twelve, and sleepless. They always had trouble sleeping, a prelude into the full-blown insomnia haunting their later years. There have been all the usual rituals, and after that Pete has even told a fantastic story to his brother, who hadn’t been excited about it at all. After pouting a while over the disappointing reaction to his genius tale, Pete proposes that they go downstairs for some parental comfort. For a hug and another goodnight kiss, maybe some hot chocolate, a warm smile, and some comforting words; not knowing they will receive none of that but instead, something much more somber.

Once they are almost down the staircase, they hear something coming from the living room.

It’s quiet screaming.

It’s the sound of their parents fighting, the twins know. Curiosity wins over them as Lewis motions Pete to stop and stay silent, and pulls his twin down to sit next to him on the stairs.

 

“You see it too, admit it!” Dad’s voice, sounding unusually agitated. Angry, even. “The way these boys cling to each other is just suspicious. They’re getting a little too old for this. _Boys_ shouldn’t behave like that. Always sticking together, always so dependent on each other… And this constant touching? Still sleeping in the same bed, every goddamn night? It’s _abnormal_. One could almost think –“ (awkward cough), “one could almost think they are doing something indecent. Something perverted.”

Dad drops his voice at the end, like he is telling a secret. Not a fun one though. Not like when dad allows them an extra scoop of ice cream with a wink and the instruction not to tell mom about it. He is swearing, and these other words their father is using – neither Pete nor Lewis is really sure what they mean, but they sound grown-up and serious. They sound _bad_.

“You shouldn’t be talking about our boys like that. They’re just children! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Mom’s sharp voice, sharp words, and so much anger. It makes Pete cringe, and Lewis bites his thumb. “Sure, they’re a bit weird, but not like that. Our boys aren’t like that,” their mother concludes, but her voice sounds tired and worn out now, like she has to convince herself, too.

“They don’t even know anything about _that_ yet. Much less _do_ anything. No – they don’t. No. I won’t stoop so low to even think that about my own children. And neither should you.”

There’s silence, there’s a slammed door, lights are shut off and then there’s quiet darkness embracing the two shivering children on the staircase.

 

Though neither Pete nor Lewis grasp the full meaning of what exactly their parents mean (what is it they aren’t? What things their mother denies them to be doing?), Pete suddenly realizes what their words mean – _suspicious, indecent, perverted. Abnormal_.

“It means mommy and daddy think something is wrong with us,” Pete answers quietly when Lewis asks him. “I think… I think they’re angry with us.” 

Pete also realizes that the feelings most of the other children have towards them but couldn’t name (that something isn’t quite right, that the twins live in their own world, that at sleepovers, the twins stay awake too long and make all kinds of weird noises under the blanket), their dad has just put into word.

(Little does little Pete know it’s only the start. He doesn’t know about all the other words that will get thrown to them over the years.)

 

Lewis comes closer, and leans his head on Pete’s shoulder. Their little hands find each other for a comforting gesture, reassuring and familiar. Is this indecent? Are they doing something wrong? Will there be punishment?

 

Why is there suddenly a line, and some things aren’t allowed anymore?

 

Anger boils in Pete as he squeezes his brother’s hand, an overwhelming sense of injustice burning inside of him.

 

“Why are mom and dad angry? We didn’t do anything wrong. That’s not fair,” Lewis whispers, and sniffles a little.

“They are wrong,” Pete says quietly, and Lewis presses closer to him and nods. “They are wrong,” he repeats, twin words hushed against his twin’s warm neck, “they are _wrong_.” Triplets, trinity, three-time repetition of the magic formula. _They are wrong_.

That’s when they learn the need to keep secrets.

It’s the first wall between them and their parents, between them and the world; one that will steadily grow taller and taller.

 

Because _they_ don’t understand, and _they_ are wrong.

 

 

Dad doesn’t mention his accusation to his children, and mom keeps silent. This isn’t something that proper families even acknowledge could exist. Soon enough, the twins kept causing all kinds of other bothersome, but rather ordinary problems, and their parents gladly focus on those rather than on the question why their delinquent teens still share a room and sleep in same bed.

 

Pete and Lewis, clearly annoyed by the request of having their picture taking for a family album, arms crossed and snottily staring at the camera without a smile; the not so picture-perfect image of two troublesome teens.

 

They discover that there is a life after sunset, outside of the narrow confinements of their room. There are dark garages, older people’s apartments, shady clubs and basements. There’s music and bands and people sharing these interests with them. There’s a whole other world waiting for them. School is so boring, and everything else is so much more fun. 

With time, the two teens also slowly learn that there are words for what they are doing. Not from their parents or from their teachers, but from hushed conversations or dirty jokes or forbidden adult magazines hidden away under their bed.

It would be too easy to just call it _sex_ , when really, sex entails so many different practices; all of which the twins are eager to get familiar with. They learn each other’s bodies by heart, and they learn how to handle each part of it properly – with hands and fingers, tongue and mouth and everything else. The simple practice of their preadolescent years quickly becomes insufficient upon discovering all these new ways to satisfy the cravings, make the voices stop for just a second, be just one perfect complete body again.

It’s still a secret – their secret, _our secret_ – because the twins also learn all kinds of other new words to describe what they are doing: _depraved, incestuous, illegal_.

 

Pete and Lewis, fifteen and angry, in someone’s poorly lit basement, back facing the camera and shirt discarded to the floor to show off their first tattoo; the picture-perfect image of two teens not knowing any better yet.

 

Outlawed or not, the twins find that there’s a small, but steady number of people with a sparkle of madness in their eyes just on the lookout for them. Those boys and girls notice there’s something different about the twins, but for the first time, they seem to accept it. It gets Pete and Lewis attention in the way they were never used to – it’s not the distrust in the other children’s eyes, it’s not the knowing look of disappointment and disgust their dad gives them. There’s something else, all new kinds of emotions going along with all kinds of new words: _adoration, hunger, lust_. There are lascivious looks and gentle hands on their shoulders or thighs whenever someone asks _so, you two come in a pair?_

 

Pete and Lewis, sixteen and horny, at an anonymous party, the picture-perfect image of regrettable decisions.

 

Gender or age, that doesn’t really matter to neither Pete nor Lewis. It doesn’t take much to convince them, because it’s just so nice to see all these different, new emotions in other people’s eyes. To be accepted for once, comforted, not pushed away. And the words they hear from the mouths of these people are so different from anyone else’s: _so pretty, so hot, good boys, yes, such good boys, now swallow – ah, yes, good_ …

Maybe, this is the way to get accepted. Maybe this way, they can make peace with the world. With every new person, there’s the hope that someone finally begins to understand, that someone in this strange world finally starts to listen to them.

There had been enough time to start figuring out their own bodies; now, they learn how to work with a third person in between, behind, in front, or next to them. They spend less and less time at home anyway, and now, more and more nights in strangers’ beds.

The twins are yearning for the approval, for nice words and the comforting promise of a next time. They learn it’s seldom kept.

 

Instead, they slowly realize _why_ certain people are drawn to them. In the end, there’s just stale disappointment. These people just enjoy the cheap whiff of doing something forbidden. Pete and Lewis are nothing but _freaks_ to them, there to fulfill someone egotistical erotic fantasy.

 

“They like us because we’re easy,” Pete says quietly one night. It’s one of the other new words that are attached to them now: _easy, cheap, trashy_ , along with _scene whores_ , _twinks,_ and _faggots_. Seventeen and sleepless, the twins are spending the night in their own room, a rare thing these days. There are still two beds (the silent plea for normalcy that goes ignored by them), and as always, one of them still stays cold that night.  “They all don’t give a fuck about us. They enjoy it _because_ they think it’s wrong.”

“Well, they can fuck off then. We aren’t wrong,” Lewis hisses as he clings closer to his twin, burying his head in Pete’s chest. “Those bastards are wrong. I’m so sick and tired of this. We’re something better than just a dirty little secret. Fuck _all_ of them.”

Pete nods, even though Lewis can’t see it. Limbs entangled and far from falling asleep, they stay silent. Pete can feel Lewis’ body shaking, can feel his twins’ hot, wet tears against his naked chest.

“We don’t need them,” Pete finally says. “We have each other.”

Lewis nods, but with every further tear, Pete grows more and more resentful of a world that would dare to hurt the one he loves the most so horribly, over and over again. 

_Fuck all of them._

 

 

Their escapades cause for more and more drastic actions from their parents. Endless arguments, being grounded, having their window bolted and barred – it’s no use. One day, dad drags them to a counselor. Concerned faces, endless and endlessly boring sessions of talking, and in the end, their parents are advised that unruly teens like them just need to be taught a lesson. There’s a tight-lipped smile and a brochure showed into their hands.

 

“You can’t ship us off to a fucking boot camp!” Pete screams. 

“You can’t do this to us,” Lewis reinforces his brother’s words. “You can’t just get rid of us like that!”

Turns out, their parents very much can.

 

It’s then that Pete learns to hate these goddamn counselors and shrinks and stupid therapists with their fancy degrees – they too don’t understand. Lewis never liked them from the beginning. He never had Pete’s optimism that maybe, if he just talked enough, offered enough of his soul, maybe, the universe will have mercy and grant him a cure. Lewis has called him stupid for that, one of their very rare arguments; but right now, Pete has to agree.

“It’s for your own good. You’ll learn to behave,” is what dad says the day they are leaving. Mom doesn’t say anything, just looks like she’s trying very hard not to cry. Dad leans forward, out of her earshot. His formerly stoic face is torn in resentment and disgust. Quiet disappointment has crept into his voice. “Hopefully, they’ll teach you to stop being such goddamn perverts.”

 

Two loads of spit from two different mouths hit him in the face almost simultaneously. Both twins won’t pass up on the chance for a dramatic gesture, no matter how stupid.

 

Later, neither Pete nor Lewis like to recall much from their stay – it’s all a blurry mess of screams and pain and anger and the tears when they beg and cry on the phone to _pick us up, please, we don’t belong here, mom –_ only to know it’s in vain, each and every time.

The other teens at camp are outsiders as well, and they can smell that there’s something off about the twins from a mile away. It doesn’t take more than a passing look to see that Pete and Lewis come from a privileged family, that they’re anxious, and that they huddle together a little too close. It’s the very worst combination, as the twins discover soon enough. 

That’s when the twins learn to hide, that they need to be better at lying if they want to survive. That there isn’t anyone to trust but themselves.

 

Pete and Lewis, their hair still unusually short after being shaved off completely, giving the camera a disinterested look; Lewis is leaning against his twin, arm slung around Pete’s waist and head resting on his shoulder, even though they have been told repeatedly that this is something for _perverts, pussies, faggots_.

 

But if there’s one thing the twins don’t care about anymore, it’s what other people think. It’s them, and just the two of them alone, against the rest of the world.

 

Until a boy with blue eyes, a golden voice, and the same dreams as theirs comes into their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the end of the first chapter. If you hate me, that's okay, I hate myself too! Okay, jokes aside, feel free to share your honest opinons with me.


	2. A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood is over, so what's next? Late teens, early adulthood, ambitious plans and a bit of twincest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey there! I haven't forgotten about this, quite the contrary! So, enjoy some more of the twins, and a little bit of smut.

High School is coming to an end, and the dawn of adulthood lingers on the horizon. It’s time to find a place in the world, a world that so far, doesn’t seem to offer much space for two troublesome twins.

 

Some things haven’t changed – there’s still one room, two beds, but Pete and Lewis have learned to be more careful. They may look down on the narrow rules the world set up for them, but sometimes, it’s easier to follow them (or at least pretend to do so) to get what they want. What they _don’t_ want is their parents’ interference, or more useless quarrel at school. If they behave just enough, life at home is much easier, making it easier to focus on what the twins _do_ want.

It’s not sex with uncaring strangers anymore. Pete and Lewis are sick and tired of just being someone’s cheap kinky fantasy. They’re more than that, and the solution to make peace with the world and be accepted must be somewhere else.

 

Instead, music becomes more important. Lewis is always better than Pete, no matter the instrument, but they’re good enough together to join a ton of bands. Pete is willing to make up for it by trying as hard as he can, and screaming as loud as possible. Which, it turns out, a surprisingly high number of people are willing to listen to.

 

There are different counselors now, another batch of shrinks, and with them diagnoses and pills start coming in. The twins learn all kinds of new words that will permanently get stuck to them: _manic, depression, anxiety, bi-polar._

 

“Yeah, those are just nicer words for _crazy_ ,” Lewis scoffs, still not willing to trust any kind of therapist. He hates the meds, because as it turns out, for some irrational reason, Lewis can’t bring himself to just swallow any pills. His throat becomes tight from panic, the sheer misery of his pathetic situation almost making him vomit the first few times he tries. Eventually, Lewis has to settle on chewing them before he can bring himself to wash down the bitter-tasting goo in his mouth with some water. Pete hates seeing his twin in such discomfort, but makes him take the meds anyway. They help, even if the price to pay for getting them refilled is spending boring sessions at some doctor’s office, talking and talking and talking.

 

It’s almost ironic that it’s one of these therapists of all people who gives them the friendly advice that writing might help. Pete scoffs – other kids never understood what he wanted to say them. Lewis quietly shakes his head – words haven’t exactly been kind to them. Why would they help them now?

They try it anyway. The twins have never backed off from a challenge. Soon enough, pages upon pages are filled with hasty, almost illegible scribblings, and the hours fly by as their thoughts pour out of them, taking the shape of words.

The power of words belongs to them for once, and they can twist and turn them around to their will. It’s so damn satisfying, and makes them feel so damn powerful. Even Lewis has to admit it was a pretty good advice. 

Pete usually ends up writing the most, but Lewis is always there for the final touch. He always did know what Pete wanted to say, and now he always knows how to make the words flow together nice and smoothly. Whether he gently re-arranges a sentence, adds or even just changes a word – it always works. Their writing is clumsy and uncoordinated at first, because there are so many things they want to say all at once, but after a while, they start to learn how to work with pen and paper. It’s only the beginning, but it’s the beginning of something great, Pete and Lewis are sure of that.

 

Pete also spends more and more time with soccer. Lewis still plays, but only casually and mostly because he hates the thought of their bodies looking different. Pete is all tan skin and hard muscles from hours upon hours spent on the field, and Lewis doesn’t want to fall behind. They’re one, after all, and any difference in shape feels dissonant.

Same doesn’t apply to tattoos though. There’s just a few of them, merely the first few hints of larger pieces of ink that will decorate both their bodies later, but each twin has their own subtle twist on whatever motif they agreed on. Pete gets a kick out of it, loves that he has the opportunity for an alternative version of himself. Lewis is still him, just a slightly distorted reflection.

 

It’s their last year in high school. The reality of having to grow up becomes more and more immediate with each time the twins are questioned on what they want to do after that.

Pete’s grades can’t compare to Lewis’ – he’s spent too much time away at training or tournaments, with music and writing, and never had much interest in wasting whatever remaining free time he has with much studying.

But he _is_ good enough at soccer to be offered scholarships. Suddenly one of his talents is worth a lot of money and an excellent education, and the coach even talks about a professional sports career. For the first time in a long while, there’s a proud expression on Dad’s face. DePaul, his own alma mater, is one of the colleges offering Pete a sports scholarship. Sure, Lewis usually does excellent in school, but he hasn’t shown much interest in applying to any colleges, or getting any extracurricular credits. This is the first time either of the twins have an opportunity that suits their father’s taste (as, unsurprisingly, he doesn’t think highly of their idea to become rock stars).

Pete nods along silently as he hears their parents talk on and on about the future, using phrases like _this is an incredible opportunity_ and _can’t let it go to waste, Peter_. Lewis sits next to his brother with a stoic face. He says nothing, but his hand clutching into his twin’s thigh under the table (out of everyone’s sight) is a clear signal to Pete that he isn’t too happy about this conversation.

 

Lewis wants out of the suburban streets, out of Illinois. He wants to be on a stage, playing an instrument and playing the crowd, too. Making them scream and cry with his and Pete’s words, dance to their music, lose their minds and have a little taste of the unnerving insanity that roams the darkest part of the twins’ brains.

Lewis wants the world at his feet, and he knows that Pete wants nothing less than that, too.

 

Pete isn’t too happy either, but he can’t dismiss his parents’ points completely. School will be over soon, and then what? How can they build their own little safe place in this agonizing universe? How can Pete protect his brother from everyone bad in this world? How can he make sure no one and nothing gets in between him and Lewis, that nothing destroys their dreams?

 

“I’m gonna do it,” Pete announces one night, “I’m going to DePaul.” He almost regrets bringing it up now, because his statement causes Lewis to withdraw his mouth from his cock to send his twin a glare. Pete had hoped they could talk this through later, preferably _after_ sex. Lewis is fingered loose already, slick from saliva and lube, his erection brushing against Pete’s thigh. Pete has made sure to spoil him with everything he likes in the hopes of skipping the uncomfortable part of this conversation for some much more comfortable fucking.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lewis says through gritted teeth, ignoring Pete’s protesting whines as he sits up. “Why?”

“We need to do _something_ after finishing high school, to get mom and dad off our backs. Especially dad. Think they’re gonna let us live here for free otherwise? We can’t exactly afford to move out and make a living off our bands. And maybe we need a second plan if the band thing doesn’t work out,” Pete tries to argue, as best as he can when his cock is still aching to be touched. “I’m… trying to be realistic here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lewis scoffs as he wipes his mouth, his other hand holding his twins’ dick in a frustratingly light grip. So much for skipping the talking.

Lewis leans forward. “Let _me_ be realistic here for a second – we’re never going to get that degree, ever. Is that what you wanna do for the next four years, writing papers and exams? Even if we do, what’s next? You and I in some office, working and pretending to lead a normal life? And what, give up on this –“ He gives his twin a soft kiss, and rests his forehead against Pete’s. “Give up on _us?_ Forcing ourselves to pretend we’re something we’re not? Be daddy’s perfect sons? Yeah, what a joke!” It’s one of the rare moment Pete finds it annoying to have a twin that is basically a part of himself, and knows him so well. There’s no way he could ever lie to Lewis, ever.

 

“I’d rather die than live like that,” Lewis says quietly. There’s no more scorn or sarcasm in his voice. He is serious, and Pete knows it, knows that he too wouldn’t be able to make it for long living between ordinary people, having to hide. Being amongst people who consider him _a threat, a pervert, someone who doesn’t belong here_.

He hates that the world comes in between them, that the ordinary life and growing up endangers their life together. They can’t live with their parents forever, can’t draw back into the comfort of their childhood bastion of safety for the rest of their lives. They have to do something, there has to be an alternative until they rise from being ambitious outsiders in Chicago’s underground scene to famous rock stars.

 

“We’ll find a solution,” Pete whispers. “We always do.”

 

“Yeah?” Lewis asks, but there’s hope in his voice. Lewis knows that his twin would never, _could_ never lie to him. Pete nods affirmatively, and Lewis feels his doubts starting to melt. “So, we’re just going to lay low in the meantime,” he says, and Pete nods again. Finally, Lewis is starting to get it, and the heavy feeling in Pete’s chest starts to fade. Yes, in the end, Lewis will always be the one to understand him.

 

“One day, we’ll make the world listen to us. Our music, our words, everything we have to offer. And they’re gonna pay for it,” Pete says through gritted teeth. He inhales sharply when Lewis gives his dick a few teasing strokes; he’s still hard, so fucking hard, and he’s getting really impatient.

 

Lewis grins, but he too has been hard for a while, and would rather end the argument now. He straddles Pete’s hips, then slowly takes him in. Pete makes a whiny noise at the back of his throat, so close to Lewis’ own little sounds. A blush is spreading over Pete’s face and chest, his dark eyes are narrowed yet still fixed on his twin, and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. Lewis knows that it’s exactly what he looks like if their roles were reversed, knows exactly what his own face looks like right now from the countless times Pete has mirrored it while riding his twin’s cock.

 

“We’ll make them pay, hm?” Lewis drums his fingers on Pete’s chest as he contemplates the thought. He’s hot and tight around Pete’s cock, and Pete really wants him to move. He clutches his hand into his twin’s hip, trying to get him to do more than just _sit_ there.

 

“Pay, yes,” Pete confirms, moaning when Lewis finally takes the hint and starts moving. “For… Ah, for everything.”

 

Lewis knows what Pete means by that – for every insult and humiliation they had to endure, for every time they have been shut out, _for believing that we’re wrong – for everything_.

The world made them suffer, and they will throw that suffering right back at them.

With that triumphant thought in mind, Lewis bows down for a kiss. It’s rough and messy, just like Pete’s hand that soon holds his twin’s cock in it. It doesn’t take too long until Lewis comes, spilling over his brother’s hand and chest.

“C’mon, just a little more,” Pete groans, impatiently buckling his hips. Lewis feels tired and not really in the mood to ride a dick anymore. He knows Pete is close, though, so he complies. It’s worth it for the look on Pete’s face alone, soon mirroring the expression Lewis knows he had on his own face a few moments ago: Eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open just a little, a few seconds of perfect bliss as he comes.

 

After a while, Pete gently lifts him off his softening cock, and motions his twin to lay down next to him. He grabs a tissue to at least partly wipe away any residue of cum and lube. Mom still does their laundry, and the twins have decided it’s for the best if they don’t draw any more attention to their incestuous adventures by leaving tons of telltale stains on sheets, shirts or towels. Once Pete is done, Lewis clings closer to him, and the twins soon find themselves embracing each other as they always do, have always done since childhood.

“What about me?” Lewis finally asks. “Where do I go?”

 

“You’re coming with me, silly,” Pete answers, instinctively pulling Lewis even closer. “You’ve got way better grades than me. And I’m sure dad can work some connections. He’ll get you all the letters of recommendation you need. We won’t even need to convince him much, he’ll love the idea. Finally, his deadbeat sons are following the right path!”

 

Lewis chuckles, but he isn’t convinced yet. “I don’t know if that will work.”

 

“Dude, they’re letting _me_ in.”

 

“Because you’re good at soccer, asshole,” Lewis points out, and frowns. “I’m your identical twin, but you took all the good soccer genes for yourself.”

 

“Well, yeah, you took most of the music.”

 

“Just what little there was available,” Lewis says with a grin, and Pete gives him a light kick to the shin. “Fuck off, I had great genes to steal from.”

 

“I’m not even sure if that’s anything determined by genes,” Lewis points out, but Pete doesn’t feel like arguing. He’s pleasantly relaxed and sated; tired, but in a good way. Not the complete exhaustion mixed with the unnerving buzz of his brain refusing to fall asleep. It’s warm and fuzzy, the edges of reality starting to blur just slightly. The familiar feel of Lewis in his arms, the body so similar to his own: tan skin with stupid tattoos, hard muscles and bones and the same blood rushing through their veins; his body, too, accidentally split into another one. Pete, Lewis, _me and him, me being him, we, us_ … They fall asleep, momentarily at peace with the world.

 

Going to college _does_ work out - Lewis’ grades are good, and even better are the connections and the money dad is willing to offer. “You got lucky, son,” their father says, even though Lewis knows it’s much less his luck and a lot more nepotism and cash that helped open this door for him. Dad gives him a stern look, then sighs, and the next sentence addresses both of the twins. “Don’t let this chance go to waste.”

There is a bit of regret in Lewis, a hint of a bad conscience - he has no intention of ever getting this stupid degree. The spot could have gone to someone else, someone who worked hard and deserved a real chance. Then again, it’s not like he’s the only lackluster student, and certainly not the only kid whose privileges paved the way to college.

 

“It’s not your fault the world is a piece of shit,” Pete just says. “Let them pay for being opportunistic assholes. We’ll pay them back twice the money when we’re rich and famous.” Lewis smiles a little, but really, Pete is right, he’s _always_ right. Besides, neither of the twins regret being able to stay close to each other.

 

There are more bands, and with the bands come new friends – guys just as angry as Pete and Lewis, and just as willing to change the state of the world as they are. All with their own issues, all of them full of snobby teenage arrogance, insecurities, and music. For the first time, being outsiders isn’t a bad thing, no – it’s what makes Pete and Lewis part of the group.

Most of the bands fall apart soon enough, but a few manage to hold it together for longer. People are screaming for them to be on stage (and willing to pay real money, enabling the twins to stay jobless), and Pete is screaming back. His words, _their words_ , repeated to him by a mass of anonymous shrieks in the audience. It’s maddening, it’s glorious, it’s everything he could ever wish for. It’s the first taste of a dream about to come true.

 

 

One day, after one of their shows, a girl comes up to Pete.

 

It’s been a great show, fans have been screaming for them, shouting for more. Pete just got done talking to some of them; a few teens, one more excited than the others, and he could swear that he’s seen one of them, Joe or John or Jerry, before. He loses them among the crowd before he can ask, and decides to get more beer instead. He shouldn’t drink more, he knows alcohol and Ativan make for a terrible combination. But the twins are living for the extremes, and the pleasant buzz already pulsing through Pete’s veins whispers that getting shitfaced is a really good idea.

 

He’s about to order when he can feel someone tapping his shoulder. When he turns around, he’s greeted by a pretty face with wide eyes and a bright smile.

 

“Hey, you’re Pete, right? From Arma?” The girl’s smile widens as she bats her lashes and cocks her head, a coquettish gesture she must have practiced in the mirror for hours. She’s pretty, and she knows it, and they both know exactly what she’s here for. Pete forgets about the beer, and just nods, hoping that the smile on his face doesn’t look too forced.

 

“You were great on stage,” she screams over the music.

 

“Oh yeah?” Pete replies as he automatically reaches for Lewis – but right, Lewis isn’t there. With slight confusion, he looks at the girl again. She’s smiling at him, and only at him. It dawns on Pete that the compliment was meant for him alone, a singular _you_ in it that excludes his twin. She just mentioned Pete’s name – and she just intended talking to _him_. Pete swallows. He can’t remember this happening before. People don’t want him alone. Without Lewis, he’s incomplete.

He leaves with her phone number scribbled on his arm. He finds Lewis, Andy and Chris still hanging out next to the stage. Everyone else has either gone home, or is still trying to get laid with someone from the crowd.  

 

“I see you got something better than beer,” Andy says when he sees the black markings on Pete’s arm.

 

“Hey, at least one of us is getting lucky,” Chris says, half-impressed, half-jealous. He playfully punches Lewis’ arm. “See, if you guys stopped clinging to each other all the time like little babies, you could get your dick wet once in a while.”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Lewis mumbles, and shoves Chris off of him. Chris doesn’t back off, and for a few moments, it seems like the playful banter might escalate. Chris knows that it won’t take much to make Lewis explode; but he also knows that Pete will take his twin’s side without hesitation, and two against one isn’t a fair fight.

 

Andy sends both of them a glare that makes it clear that he isn’t on anyone’s side, but won’t hesitate to interfere if they start a fight in front of him. “We’re out of here,” he declares, his hand firmly planted on Chris’ shoulder to indicate that it was a statement that’s not up for debate. Chris rolls his eyes, but decides it’s not worth the effort. Still, he points to the number written on Pete’s arm. “You better call the girl, asshole. _Someone_ should get something out of this evening.”

 

Pete flips him off, but Chris just grins and he and Andy are soon lost among the dwindling crowd.

“So,” Lewis says, “you’re gonna call her?”

“I don’t know.” Pete looks at the number drawn on his skin again, and clenches his hands into fists when Lewis stays silent. Is this the right thing to do? Why is this decision on him alone? That’s not how it’s supposed to work.

 

“Try it,” Lewis whispers later that night, when they’re back home and after they have jerked each other off, too exhausted for more than some lazy groping.

“Really?” Pete yawns as he slings his arms around Lewis’ waist, buries his head in the nape of his neck. There’s the familiar scent of skin and sweat and home, and Pete feels himself calm down.

“Having a girlfriend makes people happy, right? And I just want to see you happy. Wouldn’t you want that, too?” Lewis smiles at him with just a hint of sadness, but he has a point. Pete would do anything to see Lewis happy, too.

So, Pete calls the girl.

 

She’s soft and warm, and the corners of her smile reveal just the tiniest bit of the streak of perversion running through every partner the twins had. But this time, the smile is only for Pete.

And for a while, Pete thinks he wants her all to himself.

 

But that desire doesn’t last long. Lewis is part of himself – Lewis _is_ himself, an alternative version of Pete, but still with the same body, same hands, same mouth, same cock. Something is missing whenever he’s with her, and Pete’s heart aches at the mere thought of it. He can’t do this without Lewis, he can’t.

Pete also can’t explain the hickeys on his skin, left there by Lewis in a fit of jealousy. He knows he can’t tell her how much he loves being reclaimed by his twin, loves being taken apart and put back together, being that one perfect unity with Lewis even if just for a few seconds. Pete realizes that she notices his eyes and hands searching for someone who isn’t there, that he never seems fully at peace, that something – someone – is always missing.

He doesn’t dare to confess to her about his own raging jealousy, the same burning in Lewis’ chest; Pete knows it’s there, always present and filling him with anger at the mere thought of someone coming along and taking Lewis away from him – no, no. No.

 

“There’s someone else,” she says one day. “There’s someone else, right?”

 

 _Not someone else, just the missing part of me_ , Pete thinks. He stays silent, which really doesn’t help the situation.

 

“It’s not true what they say, though, right?” She laughs nervously.

 

“Who are _they_ , and what are they saying?” Annoyance creeps up in Pete. He really isn’t in the mood to end this over some bullshit made up rumor. He hasn’t cheated on her, hasn’t slept around with anyone else. And what he does with Lewis is something entirely different.

“This whole twin spiel is just a gimmick, right? It’s not… I mean,” she stammers, but to her credit, speaks up. “You and Lewis don’t… You know. There’s nothing more, right? You two aren’t _those_ kind of weirdos, right?”

 

Hot, white anger jolts through Pete.

 

Really? That’s what they are now? Some rumor? A hushed, sensational tale? They’ve worked so hard in their bands, and this is the reward they get? Fuck this.

 

“Who told you that?” Pete asks as calmly as possible. She blinks, crosses her arms over her chest, clearly uncomfortable, but gives the names away anyway.

“They’re making this up, right? I’m sorry for these shitty rumors. I’m sorry, babe, look, I didn’t mean it, I just…” Her apology comes too late. She says more, but Pete isn’t listening anymore.

 

There’s a perfect opportunity to strike back just a few days later at some big concert that has most of the Chicago underground scene as its audience. Pete and Lewis know enough people who are always angry, and always willing to pick a good fight no matter how terrible the reason may be. It doesn’t take much to convince them that certain people need to be taught a lesson. Tension is high already, most people at least half-drunk on cheap beer, and it doesn’t take long until someone’s fist gives the first punch. There’s screaming and shouting and there’s blood and sweat and tears, pain soon forgotten over a rush of adrenaline.

In the end, the twins vaguely recall the whiteness of the ER, the concerned face of the nurses and Joe, John, or Jerry, or whoever got them there, and the triumphant feeling of having won.

 

The aftermath isn’t nearly as glorious. The bruises, scraped skin and sore muscles hurt, and mom and dad are less than impressed. Some people are pissed at Pete and Lewis, but what’s much worse is that Andy is leaving Arma. It had been boiling up for a while, but guessing from his tight-lipped smile, Andy is done with childish drama for good after that incident. Things are slowly falling apart around them.

Pete and his girlfriend break up, in a surprisingly calm manner. Pete had expected loud shrieks and theatrical words, dramatic gestures or something else out of the ordinary. Instead, there’s just a silent gaze and a soft nod, a few muted words and _I’m sorry_ whispered against her skin.

It’s true, Pete really is sorry. He never meant to hurt her. She was a nice girl.

 

But having her alone wasn’t enough.

 

 

The whole fiasco got them a new friend, at least. Joe, as his name turns out to be, the fan who managed to drag the twins to the ER, sticks around. He’s a bit awkward, but he’s looking at the twins with the bright eyes of an expectant teen idolizing the twins. They can’t help but feel flattered, vanity has always been one of their weaknesses.

Joe is a cool guy though, buzzing with music and excitement, and he’s fucking talented on his guitar. Pete is only a little jealous; it’s fine when Lewis surpasses him, because they share everything, failure and success alike. Someone else though, that’s a different story. That feeling soon passes when the twins realize the potential, and when they shift from joking around about starting a new band to getting a little desperate for a project that doesn’t have _impending failure_ written all over it.

 

“So, remember Patrick? That guy I met at Borders?” Joe asks one day. They’re sitting in the twins’ bedroom, marathoning Star Wars, Pete with his head on Joe’s lap and Lewis with his head resting against Joe’s shoulders. Personal space is not a thing the twins know or care much about. “He was a smug little shit,” Joe continues, the twins silently listening. _Smug little shit_ isn’t even close to some of the insults thrown at them. In Chicago’s underground music scene, _smug little shit_ is a compliment. “But he’s so fucking talented,” Joe says with awe in his voice. “Really, so fucking talented. Can play more instruments than you can count on one hand. He wrote some really good stuff, too, the demos I heard were fantastic. I thought maybe we can let him audition for the band? We need a drummer, and I’m sure he’s interested.”

 

Pete and Lewis exchange a silent glance. They’re a little desperate right now, and any person with talent is welcome. “Sure,” Lewis confirms. “Yeah, why not?” Pete reinforces his brother’s words.

“Cool,” Joe answers, beaming with joy. “I’ll send you guys some of his work. I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”

Pete and Lewis exchange another glance, and just nod. There’s tons of people claiming to be talented, desperate to join the next up and coming band, get whatever attention they can get. But the twins don’t have much choice right now, and who are they to back away from a challenge?

 

They don’t know yet that this decision is going to change their world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, sorry for being such a tease. But I promise that they'll finally meet Patrick next chapter! And, well, Patrick won't be getting away from them anytime soon, so plenty of angst, smut and anger lies ahead...


	3. Trouble Loves Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Patrick enters the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! And with fanart, even! That's what inktober did to me. This chapter, Patrick is added to the plot - and he's here to stay, whether he wants to or not.  
> Title from a Morrissey song. 
> 
> Thanks to Snitches for beta-reading, and for always encouraging me!~

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155712566@N06/24144974468/in/dateposted/)

 

 

The friendship with Joe had started when Patrick had been a righteous music snob in a bookstore. In retrospect, maybe Patrick was acting a bit like an asshole, but Joe sticks around anyway. Soon he is sweet-talking Patrick’s mom into letting him eat all of the junk food he can find around the house, and arguing aggressively with Patrick over music, movies, and bands.

 

Not long after they meet, Joe mentions that he knows the twins from Arma and Racetraitor. He tries to sound nonchalant – failing miserably at that – but he does succeed in spiking Patrick’s interest. Of course he knows Pete and Lewis, who hasn’t heard of them? Patrick listens to Joe’s tale of their friendship with just a little bit of jealousy.

 

“Actually,” Joe starts, a grin spreading over his face, “I mentioned you to them.”

 

“Me?” Patrick asks, shifting uncomfortably on his bed. “Why’s that?”

 

“Duh,” Joe says and rolls his eyes, “because we want to start a new band, and you’re fucking talented. You should audition, they already said they’re interested.”

 

“They haven’t even heard anything I did yet!” Patrick shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

 

“Well, let me send them some of your demos. Show them what you’ve got, Patrick! They’ll love it, damn, they’ll beg you to be in the band!”

 

Patrick very much doubts that, but after a few more days of nagging from Joe, he complies. He won’t get a chance like this again anytime soon. He scrambles through the audio files on his computer, lets Joe pressure him into finally finishing recording something new he had been working on for a while, and they soon send everything off for Pete and Lewis to listen to. The next day, Joe announces the twins will be over tomorrow afternoon. Patrick just nods, and feels nauseous.

 

When the dreaded visit arrives, Patrick opens the door to see the excited face of Joe, who greets him with a broad grin and a light punch to the shoulder. “Hey guys, so this is Patrick!” He says to the twins, as if that wasn’t obvious. The twins nod, but say nothing. Patrick waits for more introductions, but Joe already passed by him to get to the kitchen, leaving Patrick behind with the twins.

One of them – Patrick isn’t sure if it’s Pete or Lewis, they look basically identical – has his arms crossed over his chest, while the other twin’s head is leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder. They both also have the exact same look on their face. Cautious and sceptic, and obviously not impressed with the dorky looking teen who just opened the door. They also look tired, like they haven’t slept for days, and maybe also skipped showering. They’re still _pretty_ , Patrick can’t help but think with a little bit of jealousy, but it’s kind of sobering to see the infamous pair of the Chicago music scene be just so… human.

There’s a long stretch of awkward silence between them. Patrick waits for the twins to introduce themselves because fuck, he really doesn’t know which one of them is which. Their long-sleeved shirts, one black, the other one red (too warm for late summer, and looking like they laid on the floor for days, in desperate need of some laundry) cover up their tattoos, making it impossible to distinguish the twins at first glance. The twin in the red shirt is wearing a knitted cap, which barely hides his messy hair.

“Come in,” Patrick finally manages to say. He’s still a little intimidated, but it’s starting to fade and be replaced by the feeling of being pissed. Why do they have to be such assholes? It’s not his fault they decided to pull off the cheesy “ _we are identical twins!_ ”-look that may have looked cute back when they were seven, but now is just plain weird. _At least their clothes don’t match_ , Patrick thinks to himself as the twins wordlessly pass by him. It’s the nicest thing to say about Pete and Lewis that he can come up with so far.

 

Joe finally re-emerges from the kitchen and rescues him from further awkwardness. He’s balancing a soda bottle under one arm, and some of junk food in both hands. Patrick’s relief that he doesn’t have to play the friendly host is greater than his annoyance about Joe carelessly rummaging through the cupboards. He takes another look at the bottle Joe is carrying – Patrick has no choice but to offer the twins goddamn Dr. Pepper, as if they were at a child’s birthday party. He has never felt less cool in his life.

“Don’t just stand around, guys!” Joe seems unfazed by the tension in the air as he motions them all to move. “I have to show off what skilled friends I have, Patrick. So let’s go see you play!”

“Right. We’re here to see him play,” twin number one in red says, as if Patrick wasn’t standing right next him. Twin number two in black nods, as if that had been some kind of deep, clever statement. What the hell is their problem?!

Patrick grits his teeth, and just leads the way to the basement. The sooner he gets behind an instrument, the better.

“Hey, Pete, catch!” Joe says and throws the guy in red a bag of Doritos. Patrick makes a mental note that the twin in red is Pete, and that the one in black must be Lewis. They could have just told him so. _Assholes_.

His three guests sit down on the floor, the twins next to each other. Pete and Joe squabble a bit over the food and soda (as if they weren’t guests, but owned the place) while the one in black – Lewis, Patrick reminds himself – leans his head against his brother’s shoulder, eyes flickering over Patrick’s battered drum kit with obvious judgement in his eyes. Lewis has stolen his brother’s hat at some point, tugging it over his own messy hair. He glares at Patrick’s body now, clearly not impressed by argyle sweaters and knee socks. Patrick is sure that he hasn’t heard Lewis say a single word so far. _Fucking jerk_.

Finally, Patrick sits behind his drum kit, trying to ignore the twins’ penetrating gaze lingering on him, as if he were some kind of strange animal at the zoo. He feels at ease now with the well-known feeling of the drumsticks in his hands, and his confidence is coming back. He’ll show these two smug bastards that they shouldn’t underestimate him.

 

 

Patrick doesn’t look up during his set, too caught up in the music, but he can feel the change in the atmosphere. He knows he’s good, maybe not as experienced as some of the guys Pete and Lewis have played with, but still goddamn impressive. When he’s done playing, Patrick looks up, trying to catch his breath. With satisfaction, he notices that for the first time, there’s something other than cautious indifference in the twins’ expression.

 

“Pretty good,” Lewis says and raises his brows. Oh, so _now_ he can talk?

 

“Told you so,” Joe chimes in, beaming with pride.

 

The twins exchange a silent glance. Then, Pete turns to Patrick. “Hey, Joe mentioned that you sing, too?”

 

“Sing?” Patrick repeats nervously. “That’s not what I’m auditioning for.”

 

“We need a singer,” Lewis says as if he didn’t hear Patrick’s objection. “Believe me, we can’t let _Pete_ sing.”

 

Joe snorts, and Pete gives his grinning brother a light punch on the shoulder. “Fuck off, Lewis. It’s not like you can sing, either.”

 

“Just do it,” Joe says with a sigh. “They’re never going to shut up otherwise.”

 

“Sing for us,” Pete demands again, as if to prove Joe’s words.

 

“Yeah, sing for us,” Lewis repeats.

 

Patrick would rather not, but he also doesn’t want to be a coward; and despite their asshole-ish behavior, Patrick really wants to work with Pete and Lewis, and take the chance they can offer him. So, he sings, just out of spite, and just to get the twins to shut up.  

 

When he’s done, the twins exchange another silent glance (Patrick already suspects that this is a quirk he will grow annoyed of pretty soon). “You’re in,” Pete states, a little bit of awe swinging in his voice.

 

“What?” Patrick asks in disbelief.

 

“You’re in, idiot,” Pete repeats slowly. “That was fucking amazing. You’re our lead singer, no doubt.”

 

“ _What?_ ” Patrick asks again, panic rising in his chest. “Excuse me, but no fucking way. I’m here to play the drums, not be your fucking front man. Get someone else to do that.”

 

“We can find another drummer,” Lewis says, unbothered by the anger in Patrick’s voice, and Pete adds: “But we won’t find another singer like you.” Fuck, do the twins always take turns in talking? What’s next, will they finish each other’s sentence and speak in unison?

 

“He’s right,” Joe nods, wincing slightly at the death glare Patrick sends his way. “Come on, dude, you sound amazing. You gotta sing.”

 

So, his skills as a drummer are just _replaceable_? Patrick grits his teeth and tightens his grip around his drumsticks he’s held on to even during singing. It takes a remarkable amount of self-control to not just stab someone’s eyes with them, but in the end, Patrick loves his drumsticks too much to unnecessarily ruin a fine pair of them with blood.

 

“Give it a chance, Patrick.” There’s a sweet smile on Pete’s face, even though the words are a clear demand and not a polite request.

 

“Seriously, you can’t let this talent go to waste!” Joe states enthusiastically, all bright eyes and reassuring gestures. Patrick is torn between wanting to thank him for breaking the twins’ already very much annoying habit of taking turns in speaking for once, or inquiring why his talent for the drums is perfectly fine to be neglected. “I know it’s not what you signed up for, but it’s what the band needs. You have to sing for us.”

 

“Trust us,” Pete breaks the silence, a serious look on his face now.

 

“Trust us,” Lewis repeats, the same determined expression on his face as his brother.

 

It’s three against one, and Patrick knows he’s lost. They want him to sing, fine, he can sing for them for a while until everyone gets bored and starts a new band, like always.

 

“Fine,” Patrick spits out, unable to hide some of his disappointment. “Fine, I’ll sing.”

 

“Fucking awesome, dude!” Joe grins as he comes over to pat him on the back. Pete and Lewis get up from the floor as well, there’s Joe proudly exclaiming he “knew Patrick was perfect, guys!” and them discussing potential drummers and equipment and where to hold band practices, all to which Patrick doesn’t listen. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, wondering how all of this has turned out so different from his expectations.

 

Patrick snaps out of his momentary doubts when he feels two pair of hands gripping into his shoulders, and when two faces are suddenly way too close to his own, mimicking each other’s smile perfectly. Pete is the one who speaks up, but it’s obvious he’s talking for his brother as well. “You won’t regret it, Patrick. We promise.”

Patrick isn’t too sure about that yet.

 

 

Once Patrick has spent more time around Pete and Lewis, it turns out they aren’t all that bad after all. In fact, they grow attached to him quickly, forcing Patrick to say farewell to personal space, and welcome in constant touching (more or less gentle, depending on Patrick’s mood – he’s not afraid to shove them away, or risk a fight), constant chattering (somehow, one of the twins is always talking, God, there’s so much _talking_ , they never seem to shut up sometimes), constantly seeking his attention (poking and prodding until Patrick gives in, or punches someone).

 

Patrick is sure the twins just split into two beings out of sheer vanity and narcissism, or just out of the sheer need to annoy him.

 

And yet, he can’t deny he’s flattered. Pete and Lewis are older than him, they’ve played in bands far more successful than any of Patrick’s, they know their shit. Yet somehow, _they_ are impressed by _Patrick_ , always assuring him he’s talented, that his voice is amazing, that he’s the golden ticket for all of them to escape Illinois.

 

“The world, Rick,” Pete says, using a nickname Patrick has repeatedly told him _not_ to use. “We’ll conquer the whole world!” He nuzzles his face into Patrick’s neck, wraps his arms around him, and Patrick can feel his hot breath ghosting over his skin when he speaks up again. So close, why do they always have to be so _close_ to him? “The whole world, and everything else you want. We promise.”

 

“We promise,” Lewis confirms as he leans forward, taking his brother’s hand into his own and resting his forehead against Patrick’s. So close again, _or am I just overanalyzing this?_ “The whole fucking world.”

 

At first, Patrick almost wants to laugh. It sounds kind of cheesy, and if anyone else had said it, Patrick would have rolled his eyes. Now though, he stays silent, doesn’t object. He doesn’t know if the twins will be able to keep their promises, but deep down, he knows that they mean every word they say.

 

There are still some moments in which the twins retreat, exchange unreadable glances or bite back words. They’re so close to each other, quite literally most of the time, which is both annoying and fascinating. Patrick has never been very close to his older siblings, certainly not in the way Pete and Lewis are. There must be other rules for identical twins, he decides, dynamics that he can’t really get behind. They may appear extroverted and loud, but there’s a quiet, secretive side to them that Patrick hasn’t been granted full access to. He’s seen some of it in their lyrics, in their stupid little silent looks they sent each other, and something tells him he’ll get to know more about it someday.

 

Something Patrick _knows_ about Pete and Lewis already though is that the twins aren’t just sweet talkers. They look very handsome, too. Their resemblance of each other is uncanny, but that doesn’t take away that they both have striking looks, that they both have something _more_ , something _different_ that captures people’s attention. Patrick wonders why the twins keep calling _him_ golden when it’s _them_ who are golden; two sets of honey-colored eyes, two pairs of brightly-smiling pretty lips, the same tan skin adorned with slight variations of black ink. Exquisite and enticing, warm and inviting. Patrick has noticed that immediately, and he can’t help but keep being aware of it, especially since the twins continue to be so goddamn touchy all the time.

 

Sure, they’re not the first attractive dudes that spark something in Patrick. He had somewhat accepted that his gaze is lingering on hot guys a lot longer than necessary already before Pete and Lewis came along. He just, well, always hoped he wouldn’t have to _act_ on it, that maybe, it could stay his little secret for a little longer (or forever). It’s enough already that he’s small, a music geek, and has a bit of a temper whenever his awkward shyness doesn’t act up. Not the ideal premise for a lead singer, and being openly gay certainly wouldn’t help either. Patrick can very much do without the whole trouble of having to deal with homophobic prejudices and people overlooking his talent in favor of just calling him a faggot.

 

On top of this mess, the boys who spark his interest are his new best friends, and a pair of twins. It’s weirding him out in ways Patrick hasn’t been prepared for, and he shoves all these feelings aside into a deep corner of his mind, hopefully to never deal with them. _It’s just some silly crush_ , he tells himself whenever the sight of a shirt revealing a bit too much skin or a pair of too tight pants makes his heart beat faster, _a horny teen’s emotions acting up_ , he argues whenever he catches himself enjoying physical contact a little too much, _it’s nothing, it will never be anything._

The band is still just something casual, they don’t even have so much as a name, and Patrick still secretly hopes and hopes that they find a better singer, and that he can go back to playing the drums like he wanted to. He hates not having an instrument to hide behind, hates being so exposed with nothing but the mic in front of him, and his hands having nothing to hold on to but the mic stand.

 

Joe takes the lead guitar, Lewis takes the rhythm guitar, and Pete plays bass. “You should be glad I’m taking the instrument no one can actually hear,” Pete remarks nonchalantly, only to receive a punch from his twin, and a long lecture from Patrick about the importance of the bass in a song. “Give _me_ the bass if you don’t appreciate it,” Patrick ends his rant indignantly, still pissed that he’s living in some sort of twisted reality where he had somehow allowed every instrument to be pried out of his hands. “Oh, you _wish_ ,” Pete answers snottily, and he only escapes the punch Patrick is aiming at him because Lewis pulls his brother back and out of reach while laughing and shaking his head.

 

The twins know tons of people in the music scene, and convince a few of them to try out for the band. It usually doesn’t last long, most of the drummers stop showing up after a few weeks. Patrick doesn’t pay much attention to that; they’re still nobodies, hadn’t even had a gig yet, and fluctuation in small bands is nothing surprising. Pete and Lewis are kind of pissed, Joe is just glad the rest of the band gets along so well, and Patrick keeps hoping that maybe, he can still take the spot himself.

 

Patrick is sure he could find a new band. There’s no shortage of those, hell, most people he knows are in half a dozen bands at once. What he _isn’t_ sure of is if he can find a new potentially successful band. Something tells him that this might be his big chance, and he can’t afford to let it slip through his fingers. He wants to make music, he wants the world to listen to his creation, and Pete and Lewis are the key to people’s hearts. The twins are older, wiser, experienced, and there’s this glimmer in their eyes. They both have tasted a little bit of success. They both want more, more out of life than to be stuck in the shitty suburbs, in shitty bands, their parents’ home. And Patrick knows, he can feel that they both will do anything to accomplish that. There’s that aura of determination, a hint of madness and desperation, everything that shines through their words and lyrics as well. They will give this their everything.

 

How exactly they are going to do this, Patrick doesn’t know. What the twins – no, what all of the band members – are going to give for success is not what he’s thinking about. He doesn’t care. He just wants to make music, and the twins are offering him that dream up on a golden plate. Patrick is young and hopeful, and he’s hoping for more. _The world_ , just like the twins promised.

 

 

It doesn’t take too long until Patrick gets a glimpse of what’s behind the twins’ secretive side.

 

 

It happens one day after practice. They all hang out at the twins’ room afterwards (Patrick still finds it weird that two brothers in their twenties voluntarily share a room – then again, maybe that’s just part of their weird twin dynamics), nothing out of the ordinary. It’s a weekday, so Joe had to go home early and offered Patrick a ride, which Patrick politely declined. It means he has to walk, but Patrick’s mom is working late and he really isn’t in the mood for spending the evening all alone at home. Plus, he bribed Pete into doing his English paper for him, so he has to wait anyway until Pete is done with it.

 

In the meantime, Lewis and Patrick are arguing about the chords in their newest song. Lewis is the one with more musical talent out of the two brothers, but that doesn’t mean Patrick can’t fight tooth and nails for _his_ version. If he’s not allowed to play an instrument, he should at least get to write the goddamn music they’re forcing him to sing to.

 

“Enough, you geeks. Here, I’m done,” Pete announces after a while with a small chuckle. “Go read over it, but it’s _baby_ stuff, Lewis,” Pete says when his brother demands to proofread.

“If it’s so easy, you’re welcome to do all my papers for me from now on,” Patrick snorts, to which Pete responds by rolling his eyes and tackling him to the ground. “You wish, Stump!” He laughs as Patrick struggles underneath him. Their playful squabbling is interrupted after a few minutes by Lewis, who gives his brother a light kick to the shoulder. “Get off of him, Pete. Here,” he says to Patrick as he hands him the printed-out pages, “I made it better.”

 

“Oh, fuck you, it was already awesome!” Pete pouts, and Patrick ignores their banter as he goes over what the twins wrote; he knows that his teacher will know it wasn’t written by him, but he also knows she won’t give a fuck and just be glad her students handed in anything passable.

 

Patrick places the sheets of paper on the cleanest spot he can find on the desk, and forgets about it as soon as he is dragged into another passionate discussion about the song.

 

And when Patrick finally goes home, the essay remains forgotten, still sitting on the desk. He doesn’t catch the twins’ exchange of meaningful glances as they notice the forgotten object and stay silent.

 

It’s not until he’s halfway home that Patrick realizes he left the damn thing back on the twins’ desk. He curses under his breath. He really doesn’t want to go all the way back, but he has school tomorrow, and he needs the English paper to pass the class. It’s his ticket to freedom. His mom is pretty tolerant (as the youngest, there aren’t that many expectations leftfor him to fulfill), but she still demands at least passable grades. If he fails, he might get grounded and banned from band practices, and this fear is stronger than Patrick’s laziness. He turns around to makes his way back, cursing under his breath.

 

The door is open. A convenient coincidence that Patrick doesn’t register. He’s tired and cranky that he had to go all the way back, and he just wants to go home.

 

The house is quiet. “Guys?” Patrick shouts to announce his presence, as he climbs up the stairs. “It’s me, Patrick.” No answer. _Dickheads_. Patrick knocks on their door, but impatiently swings it open a second later. “Hey, look, I’m sorry, I forgot –“

 

The first thing coming into his field of vision is the bed. Sitting on the bed is Pete, with his pants and underwear shoved down to his ankles, head tilted down as his gaze is focused on Lewis, who is sitting between his twins’ legs, a hand on his thigh, and his mouth on – _what the fuck_.

 

Patrick stumbles backwards, and searches his mind for something to say. But nothing in life so far has prepared him with a polite escape or appropriate reaction for this situation.

 

Pete’s head turns towards him, and his eyes widen just slightly. He looks very little “surprised”, and way too little “concerned”. His hand, fisted into Lewis’ hair, motions him to stop. Startled, Lewis withdraws his mouth, a question about the reason for this interruption already on his half-parted lips. But then his gaze falls on Patrick, which is enough of an answer.

 

There’s a moment of deafening silence. Patrick feels like a deer in the headlights, heart pounding, mouth hanging open, mind blank. He’s numb, and his body refuses to move. Coherent thoughts have escaped him. He tries his best not to stare at Pete’s cock, blood red and still held firmly in the hand of his brother, his identical _twin_ , _fuck_ , this is so fucking _wrong_.

 

Pete tugs at Lewis’ hair to tilt his brother’s head up, and they exchange a quick look. Then they both turn back to Patrick, the same stupid smile on each of their faces; except Lewis’ lips are slightly swollen and glisten from saliva, turning _his_ smile into a vulgar parody of the one displayed on Pete’s face.

 

“Hey, Patrick. You came for your homework?” Lewis’ grin widens as he tightens his grip around Pete’s dick. He gives the head another lick, which elicits a moan and a muttered swear from his twin.

 

Patrick registers that he has been asked a question, and that an answer is expected of him. He has to look away, unable to stomach the sight of their sickly-sweet smiles any longer. He has to stop thinking about Lewis’ lips wrapped around Pete’s cock just seconds ago, he has to suppress that weird tingling sensation in his guts, the shiver in his lower spine, the twitch from his own dick, traitorous, dangerous, unconcerned with ethics or morals, he has to, he _has_ to, fuck, all of this is so _wrong_.

 

He only manages to nod, as an affirmative “yes” dies in the back of his throat. Lewis wipes his mouth as Pete leans back a little, hard cock hanging out of his pants as if this was the most normal thing, no, _no, look away, damnit_. The twins simultaneously point towards the paper, which is still sitting on the desk.

 

“Thanks,” Patrick manages to choke out, and the ordinary word feels so false and ridiculous under these circumstances. The twins don’t respond, don’t even move, and their silence causes Patrick to open his mouth for more word vomit. “Thanks, I, I’ll go now. Sorry that I – sorry. I, uh – I, well, see you at practice.” He stumbles out of the room before he can hear their answer.

 

When the door shuts behind him, Patrick feels nauseous. He runs downstairs, not stopping until he’s out the door and has successfully fled the property. Outside, he stops to catch his breath, and stuffs the stupid paper into his bag, hating the dumb thing as if it was somehow this inanimate object’s fault he walked into this mess.

 

 

This was something he wasn’t supposed to see. He _thinks_ he isn’t supposed to see it, but in the back of his mind, a nagging voice brings up all kinds of doubts. The twins are many things, but they aren’t _stupid_. Reckless, sure, but this outright stupid? No. That doesn’t fit. He remembers the nonchalance in their attitude, Pete’s carefree grin, Lewis’ words. They knew Patrick would be back to get his forgotten essay. Patrick swallows, but the lump in his throat won’t go away. _They_ **_wanted_ ** _me to see. Why, why_?

 

 

The house is quiet when he arrives, and Patrick drags himself up to his room, glad he escaped all conversation. He throws his bag in the furthest corner, and throws himself on his bed, head pressed into the pillows in an attempt to drown out the outside world.

 

Maybe this was a prank. An elaborate setup for some silly joke. Except, it didn’t feel like a joke at all. There was no punchline. No one was meant to laugh.

 

Patrick’s heart rate picks up, and he feels his face heat up. This whole situation is simply grotesque.

 

_Why did they do this to me?_

 

Patrick doesn’t have an answer. He wants to hate the twins, he really wants to be able to hate them, he wants to be angry with Pete and Lewis but he can’t.

 

All he can do is hate himself as he tosses off his pants, and reaches into his boxers. Patrick half-heartedly tries to argue against it, but why bother? He already knows it’s wrong, and it still doesn’t stop his cock from hardening under his fingers when he thinks back to Pete, the profile of his face, cheeks flushed and mouth open, eyes staring hungrily at Lewis, at his brother’s lips stretched over his cock ( _does Lewis’ look the same_ ? Patrick wonders _, they are identical twins, after all, does their alikeness extend to their dicks too_?).

 

Patrick doesn’t even try to drag this out, he’s aching, his dick hard and leaking already. He bites back a moan as he recalls Lewis’ face, the same hunger in his eyes, that predatory look he sent Patrick when his tongue darted out to lick a stripe over the head of Pete’s dick. Fuck, Patrick wants to know what that tastes like, oh, he could find out by kissing Lewis roughly, could try it firsthand himself by taking Pete’s cock into his own hand, blood-red and glistening from precum and his brother’s spit, desperate, _begging_ to be touched, licked, sucked by Patrick, and Patrick would do exactly that, lean forward, let his tongue wander over the slit, and taste –

 

Patrick comes with a muffled groan, spilling all over his hand and boxers. For a few glorious seconds, the afterglow of his orgasm leaves him in blissful peace – there’s just white heat, white noise, careless pleasure.

 

It doesn’t last long. Soon enough, he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, hears his own panicked breathing filling up the silence of his room, and the reality of what happened hits him full-force. His hand feels sticky, and a heavy load of disgust with himself floods Patrick.

 

With a shudder, he wipes his hand on his underwear, then kicks off the damp boxers, discarding them somewhere on the floor. He feels gross and weird, wants to cry, he wants to apologize to Pete and Lewis for thinking these things about them, for having all these foul, sick fantasies about them.  

 

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

 

Again, Patrick doesn’t have an answer.

 

 

At next band practice, the twins act like nothing happened. They are their usual selves, laughing obnoxiously at some terrible jokes, invading everyone’s personal space equally, nothing out of the ordinary. It makes Patrick wonder if maybe, what he had seen the other day was just a bad dream. But when practice is over, Pete holds him back.

 

Everyone else has left, and suddenly, the mood has changed. Before Patrick can even say anything, Lewis is standing next to his brother. The twins eye him cautiously, and surprisingly enough, there is a hint of fear in their expressions. They exchange a quick glance, before Pete takes a step forward, and speaks up in a low voice.

 

“You won’t tell anyone about our little secret, right?”

 

Patrick takes a step back, and just shakes his head. He wouldn’t even know what to say, or when to bring it up. He doubts that people would believe him, anyway. After all, Pete and Lewis are the kings of the Chicago underground scene, and Patrick is a no one. Who would believe such a vile story coming out of the mouth of some awkward teen?

 

Pete relaxes, and Lewis takes a deep breath.

 

Before Patrick knows it, there are hands on him, four sets of five fingers seemingly stroking him everywhere simultaneously. Panic and surprise render him speechless; he stumbles backwards until he can feel a cold wall pressing against his back, a stark contrast to the still warm hands on him, all over him, under his shirt now, stroking over the naked skin underneath. Patrick is sixteen, and no one has ever touched him like that before. Arousal seeps through the initial panic, coloring the situation in an all-new light. Patrick’s used to the twins touching him anyway: personal space is not something they do with anyone. But they’ve never touched him like this before. Where is the line? Is there even a line? _Do I want there to be any line?_ Patrick doesn’t know anymore.

 

He doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, do they expect him to touch them back? Pete and Lewis seem content with just touching him, and Patrick is too overwhelmed to do anything, wouldn’t even know what to do. He’s never made out with someone like this before. His hands helplessly fist into the nearest shirt they can find.

 

He distantly notices someone opening his pants; this isn’t right, _this isn’t right_ , but before he can object, a hand snakes into his boxers, grabbing his cock.

 

Patrick inhales sharply, only to find his lips sealed with someone else’s in the next second. No one has ever kissed him like that, mouth open and a tongue pushing in. It’s kind of awkward, and Patrick doesn’t know what to do with his own tongue, doesn’t know whose lips are on his and whose drool runs down his chin. Still, the mere thought that someone is kissing him like this, that Pete or Lewis are kissing him right now, it feels so fucking good.

 

The hand around his dick feels even better.

 

The remaining doubts fade away, and everything starts to feel so right. He doesn’t even know which of the twins is kissing him (they seem to take turns, from what little his brain can register), doesn’t know what hand belongs to whom, and he doesn’t care the slightest because it just feels so good, too fucking good, another stroke over his cock, _ah, not enough -!_

 

“Do you think we did something wrong?” Patrick doesn’t know which one of the twins is talking, is it Pete? “Are you disgusted?”

 

“I don’t know,” Patrick pants, gasping for air. Fuck, he doesn’t care whose hands are on his dick right now, they just feel so good. Complicated morals are the last thing on his mind right now. “I don’t know –“

 

“Do you hate us, Patrick?” It might be Lewis who is asking that question, and there’s a weird sense of fear in his voice that Patrick has no time to care about.

 

“No,” Patrick replies hastily, no, the only person he hates is himself for loving this so much, too much, for wanting even more. “No, no, I – ah, I could never hate you!”

 

“Really? Is that true?”

 

Patrick almost sobs when the hand on his cock stops moving and instead, just hold his shaft in a tight grip. He’s so close it hurts, and he can’t help but buck his hips, fist his hand harder into shirts and the underlying skin, anything to get them to continue.

 

“Patrick, answer!” It’s Pete who’s talking, Patrick registers with what little rationality he has left. He looks sad suddenly, why is he sad, no, Patrick doesn’t want him to be sad, has he done something wrong? “Please, Patrick, _answer_ ,” Lewis whispers, his quiet voice almost drowned by Patrick’s gasps for air. They both look at him, their identical faces mirroring the exact same anxious expression, no, that’s not what Patrick wants them to be.

 

“’S true,” Patrick manages to blurt out, “I could never hate you, please, just…” He bucks his hips again, and finally, finally, the hand starts moving again, and he can feel the fingertips of a second hand running over the head of his cock, and everything in Patrick tenses up. Two hands on his dick and two on his body, two mouths taking turns kissing him, two twins way too close to him, it’s all too much at once. With a desperate wail, Patrick comes, his embarrassing sounds caught by one of the twin’s mouth and his cum staining both their hands.

 

He’s shaking, barely registers how his pants are zipped up and his belt clasped again. When his brain slowly starts to function again, Patrick notices that the twins have pulled him into a hug, like so many other times before. Lewis has buried his face in the crook of his neck, and Pete leans his head against Patrick’s forehead, again with an anxious look in his eyes.

 

“Are we good, Patrick…?”

 

The question startles Patrick. He chews his lips, which still taste like the twins’ spit. No one got hurt. Was this… Normal? Maybe not. But does that make it wrong? Maybe there are rules for grown-ups and their conflicts that Patrick is just too stupid to understand. The hug they are giving him right now feels like every other hug before, and those weren’t wrong, were they? Where would the line be drawn?

 

And didn’t Patrick have all those dirty fantasies over the twins? He jerked off to them, pictured an imaginary Pete and Lewis doing all kinds of forbidden things so there’s no way he can complain when the _real_ Pete and Lewis are touching him, just like he imagined.

 

Besides, he doesn’t want to lose the twins. Patrick has said the truth – he can’t hate them. They’re his best friends, the dawn of fatal emotions, the promise of fame, sex, and love, and their approval means the world to Patrick.  

 

So, Patrick nods his head. “Yeah, we’re… We’re good.”

 

A bright smile lights up the twins’ faces, exposing two identical sets of teeth and painting the same sparkle into their eyes. If this makes Pete and Lewis so happy, how can it be wrong?

 

“You’re our best friend,” Pete whispers, still smiling. There’s real gratitude in his voice, and he pecks another kiss on Patrick’s lips, short and cute. “I knew we could trust you.”

 

“Our best friend,” Lewis mumbles against Patrick’s neck, “we knew you were different.”

 

The praise they give him and the amount of trust the twins put in him make Patrick’s heart flutter. He isn’t exactly sure what kind of special and different things the twins see in him, but slowly, he can feel his first layers of doubt being peeled away. He’s sure one day, the twins will make him understand.

 

Pete and Lewis break the hug, and they both press one last kiss to Patrick’s right and left cheek. Then they’re gone, and Patrick is left behind with the vaguely unsettling but thrilling feeling that something has changed.

 

During a break at the next band practice, Joe pulls Patrick aside. The twins and their current drummer are putting away their instruments, busy with harmless banter, laughing and calling each other names. Joe isn’t smiling though. He looks concerned. “Hey, Patrick. You okay, dude?”

 

Patrick furrows his brows, and shrugs. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Joe says, and Patrick notices he speaks in a low voice to make sure Patrick is the only one to hear him. “You look a bit… Stressed out. I know Pete and Lewis can be a bit much, but they don’t mean it like that. They’re not malicious, they just don’t always know how to, well, appropriately express their feelings. And, well,” Joe laughs nervously, “they can be hard to handle.”

 

“I guess,” Patrick says cautiously. Does Joe know about the escapades with the twins? Sudden jealousy overcomes him. The twins are Joe’s friends, too, they’ve known him for longer than Patrick. Did they let Joe witness what Patrick saw them do? Have they touched Joe the way they touched Patrick, kissed him, stroked his naked skin, touched his cock?

 

“It’s fine,” Patrick continues, keeping a close eye on Joe’s reaction. “They can be annoying, yeah, but I’m getting used to it. No need to worry.”

 

“Awesome, glad to hear that.” The relief in Joe’s eyes paired with his honest smile and the fact that he doesn’t press the issue tells Patrick that no, Joe doesn’t know anything about the twins’ little secret. “Just wanna make sure that this band doesn’t die before it had a chance to live.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Patrick says, smiling back. “I told you, it’s fine.”

 

No, Joe doesn’t know. It’s Patrick’s secret, no, it’s _their_ secret, Patrick, Pete, and Lewis. This belongs only to them, and them alone. A strange relief floods Patrick; no, he doesn’t want to share this with anyone. It’s a part of Pete and Lewis that belongs to him, and him alone.

 

That feeling is worth the little lie he had to tell Joe. Well, it wasn’t really a lie, he just held back certain parts of the truth.

 

When Patrick makes his way back to join everyone else, he catches sight of Pete and Lewis giving him a thoughtful look. There’s a question in there, and Patrick shakes his head slightly. He hasn’t told anyone about their secret.

 

The same brilliant smile lights up both their faces, the same sense of happiness he saw last time. It lasts for a few seconds only, but those moments belong to Patrick alone. There’s still doubts and questions and uncertainty, all of which Patrick is sure the twins will clear that up over time. He just has to give them a chance.

 

Patrick is sure he is doing the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a little feedback, it's so very appreciated and it's what keeps a writer going! ;)
> 
> Find me [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com) on tumblr, I do more art there!
> 
> Also, if that wasn't enough angst for you - I will be participating in [Trick Or Pete](https://sn1tchesandtalkers.tumblr.com/post/166292338905/halloween-is-the-best-time-of-year-whats-not-to?is_highlighted_post=1), a lovely halloween challenge where all kinds of writers will post all sorts of different stories for the spooky occasion! There will be angst, smut, fluff, and everything in between. Follow the link for more information, and make sure to keep an eye out for that! ;)


	4. What's The World?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! And once more, with some complement art for the chapter! Enjoy.

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/155712566@N06/38339687542/in/dateposted/)

 

 

 

The twins are ecstatic.

 

Ever since Patrick came into their life, things have been looking up. It had taken them a while to get accustomed to someone new in their life – the twins are wary these days, careful to whom they reveal more. Being extroverted, acquainted with half the Chicago music scene and loudly demanding a place for them there is one thing, but getting quiet and personal with someone – especially someone they don’t know – is difficult. A snotty and pompous attitude is good for getting shows booked or getting the crowd into a good mood, but when they don’t have the safety of acting on stage, the twins have more trouble interacting.

Not to mention, Patrick’s own attitude doesn’t help much either. He’s bratty and self-righteous, all teenage arrogance under layers of teenage insecurities. Thank God for Joe being so good-natured that he put up with that, and thank God for Joe introducing this awkward, argyle-wearing musical genius to them.

Patrick’s voice had sounded raw and unpolished, its owner not quite capable of making full use of his gift yet. But the twins aren’t stupid. Even Pete, always behind Lewis when it comes to music, could recognize that talent in an instant.

If anyone is going to sing their words, if anyone carries their message to the masses, it has to be Patrick. _He’s_ the one who will get people to listen, _his_ music will help the words get stuck in everyone’s head, _his_ voice will enchant every audience. Patrick is like a puzzle piece they never noticed was missing. For all the grumpiness and occasional punching, he still fits perfectly with Pete and Lewis. They can appreciate someone who puts up a fight with this unforgiving world, and they’ll be more than happy to let him into their small but safe corner of the universe. In no time, he has become an irreplaceable part of their little word, and they are determined not to let him go ever again.

They will get him to sing, no matter what. They will make him see what they can see in him, it doesn’t matter what it takes to convince him. Patrick will believe the twins’ words, he will see they keep their promises. He will realize he is part of their world now, forming a trinity with two troublemaking twins.

 

There’s a draw to Patrick the twins never experienced before with anyone else but each other. Mentally, but physical as well. The need to touch, to hug, to kiss, and more is ever-present. That’s what Pete and Lewis always did, that’s what they always longed for, that’s always part of what fills the endless void inside of them. So that’s what they do with Patrick, too, touching and hugging and smacking a kiss to Patrick’s face or neck until an elbow, fist, or foot pushes them away.

All of that is not enough. The twins want more, and if Patrick is anything like them, he too must want more. Maybe he can’t show it, confused emotions, awkward teenage insecurity and laughable moral objections obscuring his view. But the twins know, he _has_ to have the same longings. They need Patrick, and Patrick must need them, too.

They need to make Patrick understand.

 

It will be a process, a slow one, to undo all the damage and to ensure Patrick won’t be one of _those_ people – the ones who think the twins are perverse, dangerous, crazy and _wrong_ – or worse, think this is just some sexual abnormality to exploit. No, Patrick will understand.

The twins are anything but patient, so having to wait for the perfect moment to give Patrick a first glimpse into their nature had been torturous.

Pete wasn’t surprised when he saw Patrick’s shocked face upon walking in on them, of course, someone who grew up in a life full of ordinary people and ordinary opinions will have some stupid misconceptions. He can’t deny it hurt a little, but Lewis reminds him that it’s only even more reason to get him on their side.

No, Patrick will understand. They will _make_ him understand.

And when, next time, Patrick accepted all their kisses and affection, didn’t push them away, didn’t seem unhappy about their hands all over his body and on his cock at all, the twins just felt their assumptions were confirmed.

 

Patrick will understand.

 

They drag Patrick and Joe into some Arma stuff as well, and both of them can handle themselves on a stage as it turns out. Granted, Patrick still hasn’t _sung_ in front of an audience, but it’s a first step. Arma is done and over anyway, that much the twins have realized – this band won’t be the one to get them out of Illinois. Which is all the more reason to concentrate on their newest project.

“Maybe we could get Hurley as our drummer,” Pete proposes one day, after their last drummer stopped showing up. He had given a flimsy excuse, didn’t even look the twins in the eye as he told them he wouldn’t be at practice today, or next week, or ever again. “You guys are just too much,” he had said, and despite being meant as an insult, there was an underlying hint of fear in his voice. Well, screw him. If he doesn’t want to belong to Pete and Lewis’ world, he can go fuck himself.

“Hurley?” Patrick repeats, taking a sharp breath. “As in, Andy Hurley?”

“Obviously,” Lewis replies. “We’ve played with him before. Maybe he’s interested.”

“That would be awesome!” Joe yells, the same sense of star-struck attitude as Patrick’s in his eyes.

Patrick makes a noise that could be interpreted as affirmative, and looks away. The twins know he’s still kind of hoping to be the drummer himself, and Patrick _is_ a good drummer, no question, but he’s wasted behind a set of drums where no one can hear his voice. If the twins can get a drummer that pleases him, maybe he’ll stop being a constant bitch about it.

“Let’s go over the songs anyway. We can still make some progress!” Pete says, and throws himself at Patrick, arms around his waist, causing both of them to stumble and almost fall over. He gets an elbow to the stomach for that, and a laugh from Lewis, who went for the safer option of throwing an arm over Joe’s shoulder.

 

After practice, Patrick and Joe grab their stuff to head out, a slight tension visible in Patrick’s posture. Pete can’t deny that there’s the desire to hold him back, pin him to the wall again, repeat their delicious little adventure from last time. Lewis feels the same, but he reaches for Pete’s hand to hold him back. They want, oh they want, but Patrick needs time. Patrick needs to think. They will make him understand, but he needs to be ready.

“Don’t worry too much,” Pete says as a goodbye to them. He reaches for Lewis’ hand, confidence fully restored when he feels the familiar soft squeeze. “We’ll keep all our promises, right?”

“Sure, guys,” Joe says while rolling his eyes, always unwilling to share the twins’ theatrics. They’re almost out the door when Patrick glances back, unsaid questions on his pretty, parted lips.

Pete and Lewis smile at him, Lewi’s lips forming a silent repetition of his twin’s words – _all of our promises_. They nod, and Patrick nods back, before he turns around. The grin on the twins’ faces widen.

Patrick slowly becomes part of their _we_.

The door falls shut behind Patrick. For now, he’s leaving, but one day, he will stay with them forever.

 

 

Sadly, Andy doesn’t share their enthusiasm over the twins’ newest project. It doesn’t come as much of a surprise, really. After the fiasco with Arma and some of the stunts the twins have pulled, he’s less than eager to get dragged back into their mess again. They’ve kept in touch, Andy’s still their friend, but it appears he’s not willing to be their bandmate again anytime soon.

They invited him over to their place partially because being on their own turf gives them more confidence, and also because they aren’t quite sure which obscure people are rooming with Andy right now. There’s a constant coming and going of all sorts of people, some more radical in their various beliefs than others, and some of them really not fond of the twins for various reasons.

There has been some lighthearted talking, the twins have provided Oreos and other appropriate vegan junk food, and no alcohol is present (Andy is still not happy with the twins dropping out of their short-lasting straight edge phase). Pete and Lewis exchange a glance, and after a faint nod from his twin, Pete decides it’s the best time to bring up the topic.

 

Andy listens, silently, and much to Pete’s dismay, he isn’t nearly as interested as he should be.

 

“Come on, Andy, it’ll be awesome!” Pete argues, cross-legged on one bed while sending Andy (who is sitting on the other bed – having visitors over is the only time both beds are occupied at the same time) an expectant grin.

“Yeah, dude, we found this fucking amazing singer, Patrick. He’s got an amazing voice, and some real fucking talent for composing,” Lewis says, knowing that Andy trusts his judgements concerning musical talent more than his brother’s. “You have to hear him out, he isn’t just some average scene asshole. He’s a born genius, a star in the making.”

“I have enough going on,” And replies smoothly as he flips through a comic book. “I’m in several great bands already, and they all keep me occupied enough, thanks.”

“One more band can’t hurt,” Pete grins, and is met with no answer.

“You could at least give it a try,” Lewis says, “Andy, I told you, you should hear the kid, he’s amazing. He’s got so much fucking potential. Patrick is our golden ticket out of this hellhole.”

This time, Andy looks up from the comic book, and sends the two of them a stern look. “I already said no.”

“But your other bands can’t be as awesome as what we’ll have!” Pete pouts, and stubbornly crosses his arms in front of his chest. Why won’t Andy believe them already? Why does he push them away? Why won’t he accept the open door, why would he choose to stay out of their world and be part of something else instead?

 

Lewis, sensing that his brother is upset, pulls Pete closer, and slings his arms around his waist. Pete relaxes, and on instinct, he leans into the familiar gesture. Lewis rests his chin on the top of Pete’s head, waiting for Andy to reply.

 

“Look, guys, I love you,” Andy starts, “you can be great friends whenever you aren’t too busy being jackasses. But I really don’t think I can stand being in a band with you two again anytime soon. I don’t need any petty drama, and I don’t need to see some immature dudes ruining whatever talent they have by being too distracted by anything but music. Thanks for the offer, but no.”

“You’re not even willing to give it a try?” Pete asks, disappointment causing a lump in his throat.

“Andy, you’re missing out,” Lewis reiterates, automatically searching for comfort by pulling his twin even closer to him. Pete is tense in his arms, and Lewis grits his teeth. He won’t let anything bad happen to Pete, _ever_ , and if Andy isn’t on their side, Lewis won’t tolerate any further harsh words from him.

There’s a heavy sigh, then Andy sends them a stern look. “Okay, guys, here’s the deal – prove to me that you can make something more out of this band, that you won’t sabotage yourselves and ruin whatever potential you promise this has, and then come talk to me about it again.”

 

That sounds awfully vague to two twins who aren’t exactly known for patience, or handling rejection very well.

 

But Andy hasn’t said no.

 

Andy still believes in them, and fuck if Pete and Lewis aren’t going to prove he’s damn right with that. They keep their promises. They won’t lose Andy to whatever other people are out there, thinking they have a right to claim Andy’s talent for themselves when Pete and Lewis have something much better to offer – the whole world.

“Deal,” Pete finally says.

“Deal,” Lewis repeats, knowing that the grin on his face mirrors the one that no doubt is displayed on his brother’s face right now, too.

 

When Andy smiles back at them, Lewis feels how Pete relaxes again. The tension that lingered in the room vanishes as well, now that both parties are satisfied with the surprisingly calm and rational outcome.

The twins know that they’re right, and once Andy sees that, he won’t ever dare to doubt them again.

 

 

It’s a bit of a downer when the twins have to admit Andy’s reluctance to the rest of the band.

“We’re working on it,” Pete says, trying his best not to roll his eyes when he hears Patrick’s obvious scoff. “Look, he’s a busy guy, we’ll have to prove to him that this band is worth his time.”

“ _This band_ doesn’t even have a name yet,” Patrick reminds him in a snotty voice. Joe nods, before adding: “Yeah, well, we don’t know if this band is worth _anyone’s_ time yet.”

“So you don’t believe in us already?” Pete asks through gritted teeth, hands balled into fists. Goddamn these teenagers, don’t they have any patience? Not the slightest bit of trust?

“Of course I do.” Joe’s seemingly taken aback by the obvious anger in Pete’s attitude. Patrick furrows his brows, the tiniest bit of fear in his eyes, but of course, he’s too much of a brat to stay silent. “Well, we have to work hard if we want to make this into something,” Patrick says slowly. “Something has to happen if we want to be more than just four guys with instruments in a garage. More than just talking and dreaming of success, y’know. If that’s what you want –“

“Of course, that’s what we want!” If it weren’t for Lewis’ hand on his shoulder, Pete would punch right into Patrick’s smug face. How fucking dare he question them before he’s even given it a real chance? Why must he be so doubtful all the time? Why can’t he just believe them for once?

 

“You guys are right,” Lewis says into the loaded silence. “It’s time we do something.”

 

“We could try playing some of the songs for an audience, see how they like it,” Joe suggests, still a little cautious.

“We should get a fucking reliable drummer first,” Patrick says.

Pete scoffs, but holds back another angry reaction. “Oh, we’ll find someone.”

Lewis nods, and adds: “If the audience likes us enough and people don’t think we suck completely, we’ll have even less trouble finding someone.” He thinks backs to Andy, to the refusal that still stings. “They’ll _beg_ to be in the band.”

“If people hate us, at least we won’t have a name to be remembered by,” Joe says lighthearted, some of his optimism restored already. “And if they like us, we’ll come up with something cool.” That’s the good thing about teens – easy to persuade them. Pete relaxes, even more so when he feels how Lewis leans his head on his shoulder. Yes, yes, everything is like it should be. Pete and Lewis, the two of them, and they’ll win their bandmates over as well.

“I’ll get us a gig,” Pete announces, already mentally going through the list of locations, events, and people willing to let them play. “Won’t be anything big, but a nice test audience. We can ask Ben if he’s in for drumming.”

 

 

Pete stays true to his words, and it doesn’t take long until he’s found a place willing to give a little unnamed band a stage. It’s the cafeteria on the DePaul campus, as Lewis notices with a satisfied smirk, with people probably more enthusiastic to see everyone but them, but it’s a first step. Ben didn’t need as much convincing as Andy, and while he might not be anywhere near as good as Hurley, he’s showing up at least.

As their first show comes closer, everyone in the band gets fussy. Today’s practice had been loaded with tension between everyone, even though it’s just a tiny, shitty little stage that will let them play. Patrick seems especially stressed out, and the twins have invited everyone over tomorrow for some more practice and songwriting. There had been a spark of doubt in Patrick’s eyes, of distrust, of unsaid questions and want, but he had agreed nonetheless.

 

 

“The gig, the band, everything… I’m nervous already,” Lewis admits later in the evening. The twins are sitting on one of the beds in nothing but their pajama pants, and Pete is holding a glass of water in his hand. Not for him, though, it’s for Lewis, who keeps staring at the two little pills in his hand. Pete is done swallowing his, and now he gently nudges his brother’s arm.

It’s a struggle, every time, and today it’s even worse when there’s so much else on his mind. But Lewis knows his brother only wants the best for him. So, with a sigh, he places the meds in his mouth, can feel them dissolving into bitter goo on his tongue already. Lewis knows he should just swallow them, it would be so easy, there’s no reason to be afraid, he should just – if only – maybe he could – _fuck, fuck, why does it have to be this difficult, why can’t I just_ –

“Stop worrying so much,” Pete whispers, soothingly stroking his brother’s arm. “You’re doing good. C’mon, you’re halfway done.”

Lewis closes his eyes, and finally, his jaw is moving, teeth grinding the pills caught between them with little effort. Soon enough Pete presses the glass of water to his lips, which Lewis takes into his own shaking hand. He empties it in one go, shudders as he places it on the nightstand.

“You did good,” Pete says softly as he pulls him into a tight embrace, then motions Lewis to lay down. Lewis’ back is pressed against Pete’s stomach, naked skin against naked skin, and he can feel Pete’s breath ghosting over his neck. “Hey. Forget about your worries. Focus on me, okay?”

 

Lewis nods, feels Pete’s hand sliding into his boxers, two fingers wet from spit pressing against a taut ring of muscles.

“Relax, I’ve got you,” Pete mumbles, and Lewis feels himself do exactly that.

Pete works his two fingers in, carefully, waits until Lewis pushes back with a small moan. He increases speed, bites into the soft skin of Lewis’ shoulder, and can’t help but press his own hard-on (still trapped in his underwear) against Lewis’ thigh.

“Fuck, Pete, just – just fuck me,” Lewis whispers, followed by a small moan as he grinds closer to Pete.

“You sure?” Pete asks quietly; there’s only two fingers and not much prep, it’s not how Lewis usually likes it.

“Just get some lube on your dick, and get inside of me, please.” Lewis pauses, then adds: “I want to feel the stretch, Pete, I wanna – just let me focus on you, and you alone, like you said.”  

Pete just nods silently. The twins have enough experience with each other’s bodies and their limits, and they know that no matter what, they would never hurt each other intentionally. He knows Lewis can take it, and if that’s what he needs right now, Pete won’t object. _Anything_ to make Lewis feel good, _anything_ to make him forget there’s a world outside that won’t accept him, _anything_ to let them both feel at peace with each other.

 

A kiss between Lewis’ shoulder blades, then Pete pulls down their underwear and pajama pants. He sits up to reach for the lube (always stored away safely and secretly in their nightstand, a matter of convenience that the twins have agreed upon over time, after one too many unsuccessful tries to substitute real lube with just spit – which always ended with regrets). Pete slicks himself up, before snuggling close to Lewis again. He throws his leg over his brother’s thigh, lines up his lubed-up cock with Lewis’ entrance.

There’s ragged breathing and a muffled hiss when Pete pushes past the initial resistance. Lewis stays silent while Pete bottoms out, all quiet concentration and troubled emotions wound up tight in his chest. He feels tighter than usual, there’s less lube, and his slightly awkward position as the little spoon doesn’t allow for much room to move. Pete soothingly runs his hand over his brother’s thighs, hips, up to his chest, rests his head against Lewis’ neck.

Once Lewis gives a short nod, his twin starts to move. It’s slow and gentle, but it hurts in the best way. A bit too much friction, a delicious burn, just enough to keep Lewis grounded, just enough to keep his thoughts anchored to the here and now, on Pete, on _them_. Fuck the pills, this is much better. Nothing else matters, and all thoughts vanish from Lewis’ mind when Pete shifts a little, and when his cock brushes Lewis’ prostate with each following thrust.

“’m here, Lewis,” Pete mumbles against his twin’s hot, sweaty skin, “I’m always here for you.”

Lewis grits his teeth, tries to restrict the groans and whines wanting to escape his mouth. There’s other family members in the house, their parents are home today, and Lewis knows they wouldn’t understand the twins’ little secret.

“I’m here, Lewis,” Pete repeats, his hand now grabbing his brother’s cock. “We, _us,_ that’s all that matters right now, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Lewis pants, right, right, Pete is always right, and ah, his hand feels so good on Lewis’ cock, his wet lips against his heated skin make Lewis shudder, and the delirious sensation of pain and pleasure each time his twin’s cock thrusts into him is all too much. With a muffled groan, Lewis comes undone in Pete’s hand, and everything falls into place again.

After a couple more erratic thrusts, Pete comes as well. For a few moments, there’s blissful nothingness, just Lewis and him, and nothing else matters.

 

Pete pulls out slowly, then pulls up their underwear and pants again. It’s dirty, but neither of the twins can bring themselves to care. Maybe they can just smuggle it into the washing machine tomorrow, so mom won’t notice.

“You feel better now?” Pete asks with a grin, knowing the answer exactly.

“Of course I do. I always do,” Lewis says, mirroring his twins’ grin as he turns around to face him. It’s true, it always is; Lewis feels much more relaxed now, his doubts forgotten, the last shadow of chemicals on his lips long kissed away by his twin.

 

Pete stays silent, just traces the ink on his brother’s skin. Lewis groans, wants to pull him closer already, but he knows that there must be something on Pete’s mind if he’s behaving like that. “Hey, Pete. What are you still worried about, huh?”

“It’s – it’s about Patrick. What if we lose him? What if he doesn’t understand? What if he thinks we’re wrong?” Pete buries his head in his twins’ shoulder, a throwback to that one night when they overheard some of those awful words that clung to them ever since, a throwback to every other time the world had shut them out.

“He won’t.” Lewis wraps his arms around Pete, and the familiar feeling of the familiar body calms him down. “Patrick is different. We’ve seen that already, right?”

“You don’t think Patrick just hangs out with us because we’re popular, right?” Pete asks quietly. “You don’t think he likes us just because we’re pretty, right? I know he liked it when we touched him but he’s not – Patrick’s not one of those fuckers who think we’re just good-looking sex toys, just some perverts to exploit, right?”

“No, he isn’t,” Lewis answers firmly. “Patrick isn’t one of those people.” With anger, he thinks back to some of their sexual encounters, to scornful faces and to the terrible rumors, to former lovers who just wanted to take advantage of two twins desperate for acceptance, to former friends who turned their backs on them, calling them all kinds of gross insults the second the twins were rumored to be _different, off, not like us_.

Lewis shudders internally. The bitter memories still hurt. But he gently runs his hand through Pete’s hair, keeps his voice even. Pete needs his reassurance now. “You know I would never let any of those fuckers hurt you ever again. I won’t let _anyone_ hurt you, Pete. But I know Patrick isn’t like them.”

Pete nods, and feels his doubts fading away. Yes, Lewis is right, Lewis would never lie to him. Lewis would never let him get hurt.

“We’re gonna show everyone,” Lewis mumbles, “you and I, we’ll show them. No matter what it takes. And Patrick will be on our side. He will. He belongs to _us_.”

“To us,” Pete repeats, the dawn of sleep letting his tongue and eyelids feel heavier with each passing second. “Yes, that sounds good… We and Patrick, we’ll be an awesome team, I know.”

“We will,” Lewis confirms in a gentle voice. “We will, Pete, we will.”

 

 

The next day at practice, Patrick seems more nervous now that the realization has settled in that he needs to sing in front of people. He keeps fidgeting with his hands, running his fingers through his hair until Pete tugs his knitted cap over it, and tells him to stop. Although this is met by an angry glare, Patrick keeps the hat on. It seems to help having something to hide behind. The twins have no such intentions, when they are on stage, the world is supposed to see them. But if Patrick needs it for now, they won’t object.

Late in the afternoon when everyone else has already left, Patrick is still there, now occupying the twins’ room. Patrick has been here for a while, endlessly going over everything and just being anxious in general. There’s only so much reassuring the twins can do before they get bored, leaving Patrick with Lewis’ guitar and a scowl on his face as he tugs the hat Pete has given him lower over his face.  

A bit of meaningless banter turns into something else when Lewis has Pete pinned down to the bed, knees between his legs, and there’s a look passing over Pete’s face that he recognizes immediately. Lewis leans forward, softly tugs Pete’s earlobe with his teeth before whispering: “Thinking what I’m thinking?”

He doesn’t need to see Pete’s face to know that there’s a big grin plastered on it. Of course, Pete shares the same thought, he always does. Hearts beating in sync, and flesh aching to be touched by familiar hands.

 

“Patrick never watched you finish the job,” Pete whispers as he cups his brother’s chin with his hand, bringing their faces even closer together. “A pity, really. We should catch up on that immediately.”

“Let’s go ask him then.” Lewis sits up, and looks at Patrick who is still fiddling with the guitar, the brim of the cap drawn almost over his eyes, all caught up in the music. He pays no attention to the twins’ banter, and hasn’t caught the shift in the mood. But the twins have a plan, and they won’t tolerate being ignored. “Hey, Patrick!”

No answer. Lewis rolls his eyes. “Patrick. Don’t pretend you can’t hear us.”

Still no answer, though Patrick tightens his grip around the guitar. God, why does he have to be such a brat?

Pete props himself up on his elbows. “’Trick, come on, don’t be mean!” He chirps, knowing full well that Patrick’s dislike of nicknames will get some sort of reaction.

“Can you two fuck off, please?” Patrick snarls through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to, y’know, get some music done here. The thing I came here for in the first place? I don’t care about your silly arguments.”

“Oh, we’re not fighting anymore,” Pete says, and the coquettish undertone in his voice finally gets Patrick to look at them.

“There’s something else we wanted to finish first. Do you remember?” Now that Patrick is sending them an annoyed glance, Lewis decides he needs to keep his attention focused on them, and them alone. He places his hand between Pete’s legs, teasing, just enough pressure to cause some delightful friction. Pete hums in approval, bucks his hips, and sends Patrick a cocky gaze.  

 

Silence settles between them, loaded with tension. Patrick’s knuckles are white, and all the blood in his body has seemingly relocated to his face. He remembers, obviously.

 

“You missed the best part of the show,” Pete says sweetly, grinding closer to his twin.

“You missed the _important_ part,” Lewis adds, one hand rubbing circles over Pete’s crotch, the other one motioning him to take off his shirt.

It’s not the first time Patrick has seen the twins shirtless, but it’s nice to see the blush on his face darken even further. Red-faced and with furrowed brows, he looks torn between wanting to yell at them to stop, or to give in and enjoy the show they are about to offer. And the twins can’t allow him to object. Patrick has to see, Patrick has to understand.

Pete drags his brother in for a kiss. It’s messy and although it is a bit more for show than anything, it does the job of keeping Patrick’s attention focused on them, no doubt recalling the last time they kissed _him_ like that. Ah, and there will be more of that in the future, Patrick’s lips are ever so kissable, but now, there’s something else the twins need to do. Lewis breaks the kiss, and works his way down between his twin’s legs. He lets his tongue trail over Pete’s Adam’s apple, gives his collarbone a little bite, licks over Pete’s nipples; Lewis knows it makes for a good view, it’s a show they have given before, but no one has ever looked at them like Patrick. No one has ever mattered that much. He’s their most important one-man audience.

In no time, Pete has shimmied out of his pants and underwear – Patrick has seen his dick before, no need to keep it a secret. It’s half-hard already, anticipating the well-known tongue and mouth and the thrill of another pair of eyes on it. Lewis takes it in his hand, licks a stripe over the shaft, head turned slightly to the left so he can keep his eyes on Patrick while doing so.

There’s a sharp inhale from Patrick, and whatever weak words of objection his mind may have come up with die at the back of his throat, unsaid. He’s still holding onto the guitar, but widened eyes and his attention are focused on Pete and Lewis. Which they consider as quite an accomplishment, given that Patrick usually favors whatever instrument he has his hands on over everything else.

Finally, Lewis takes Pete’s cock into his mouth, slowly so that Patrick can appreciate the view. He knows his lips look pretty stretched around a cock, he’s seen Pete doing it enough times, and he’s had enough people reassuring them that. His lips meet his fist holding Pete’s shaft, and Lewis starts to get to work.

Pete curls his fingers around Lewis’ hair, even if it’s just for show. He knows Lewis’ limits, usually wouldn’t hesitate. For now, a perfect performance is more important than getting off quickly, and he decides it’s best to let Lewis set his own pace. In the meantime, Pete focuses on moaning and panting, louder than usual, knows it’s working when he sees how Patrick’s face is colored bright pink by arousal, lower lip caught between his teeth as Patrick tries not to join the twins’ sweet sounds with his own. He fists his hand harder into his brother’s hair, knowing that Lewis knows exactly what that gesture is demanding of him.

Lewis takes him in further, further, and a little further, until his lips meet the wet skin on Pete’s crotch and Pete’s cock meets the back of his throat. There’s a gasp from Patrick who seems to have forgotten himself for a moment there. The look of surprise, adoration and sheer lust is worth every failed attempt at sucking dick, every time it had ended in miserably coughing and gagging, every time some stranger shoved his cock down a little too harshly with words like _just fucking take it, faggot_.

 

The room is filled with Pete’s little _ohs_ and _ahs_ , with the sound of spit and wet skin, with Patrick’s ragged breath as the instrument in his hand stays silent. It’s going just the way the twins had imagined it, and if Lewis’ mouth wasn’t occupied with his brother’s cock, he would allow himself a smirk. For now, he looks up to Pete, who’s close to coming, asking the silent question of how to finish. It would be fun to let Pete come all over himself, lick him clean afterwards while Patrick watches.

“Fuck, Lewis, just – swallow, please,” Pete groans, which, well, doesn’t look as impressive, but is still pretty hot. So, Lewis complies, and when Pete reaches his orgasm soon after, he makes sure to catch every last bit of his cum in his mouth.

Afterwards, Lewis sits up, wiping away some of the spit with the back of his left hand. His right hand gives Pete’s cock one last tug, causing him to whimper. “Stop that, asshole, I’m too sensitive,” Pete groans, as if Lewis wouldn’t know that from first-hand experience for years now.

For a moment, Pete considers just discarding his pants, but complete nakedness might overwhelm Patrick. Ah, another time, when there’s more time to explore each other’s bodies, when Patrick won’t be held back by whatever doubts still plague him. For now, Pete yanks up his underwear and pants, then sits up, slumping against his brother’s frame. He’s trying to relish the last bit of the afterglow, and nudges his brother to indicate Lewis should take the part of speaking right now.

“So,” Lewis says with a grin as he lays his arm around Pete’s shoulder, “did you like that, Patrick? There’s so much more we can show you – care to join us on the bed?”

 

There’s no reaction aside from wide eyes and confusion. Having their invitation ignored, the twins stand up. It’s two steps, then they’re right in front of Patrick, looming over him. They don’t wait for his reaction. Lewis gently takes the guitar out of Patrick’s hand – a miracle, really, nothing that Patrick would have allowed to happen under normal circumstances – then Pete pulls him up.

“Guys,” Patrick stammers as he lets himself get dragged into the twins’ open arms, “guys, I don’t know what –“

“You don’t need to worry,” Pete whispers affectionately. “You have us now.”

“We’re the answer to every question you have,” Lewis adds.

That shuts Patrick up, and with satisfaction, the twins notice the outline of his hard cock pressing against his jeans. Now that is something they can work with. Pete and Lewis manage to pull Patrick over to the bed, then maneuver him to lay on the mattress. They kneel down next to him, Lewis next to his head, Pete further downwards, hands already on Patrick’s thighs.

“You want to taste?” Pete asks with a smirk, and Patrick’s eyes widen. There’s a snarky remark on his mind, Pete can practically see it forming on his lips, but it goes unsaid.

Lewis bows down his head, slowly. Patrick could turn away, he could deny, but he doesn’t. Instead, his trembling lips meet Lewis’ for a soft kiss. Lewis pulls away, wanting to give Patrick one last chance to say no. Patrick needs to be ready for this, he needs to understand, otherwise it’s useless. For a few agonizingly long moments, he does nothing as his blue eyes keep staring at Lewis. Then, there’s a hand grabbing into Lewis’ hair, and he knows it’s not Pete’s. Patrick drags him closer, and brings him in for another kiss. This time, it’s not soft or gentle, it’s rough and demanding, pink tongue licking into Lewis’ mouth, hungry, wanting. Patrick is a bit clumsy, clearly not very experienced with kissing; he hasn’t quite figured out yet what to do with his tongue, how to keep his teeth from colliding with someone else’s, or how to treat someone else’s tongue exploring his mouth. It doesn’t matter, because his intent is more important than the awkward execution. They have all the time in the world to teach him how to use his mouth for kissing and everything else.

Lewis knows Patrick can taste his twin on him, the faint remains of Pete’s cock and cum in his mouth, and it gives him a huge kick. It’s fucking hot, kissing him like that, and it’s thrilling to share this moment, to share Pete with Patrick like that.

 

Lewis distantly recalls Pete’s attempt at having a girlfriend. He had wanted Pete to be happy, but at the same time, the boiling jealousy burning in his stomach was unbearable. There had been angry kisses and sharp teeth against soft skin when he had sucked another mark to his twin’s skin, overwhelming guilt whenever Lewis couldn’t help but wonder if he was ruining Pete’s happiness, and finally, the endless relief when one night, after everything was over, Pete had whispered “I feel the same way, Lewis – no one, _no one else_ can have you, have _us_ – no one can divide us, ever, I promise…”

None of these feelings are present. There’s no jealousy, no envy, no doubts. Patrick belongs to them, and they belong to Patrick, all equal.

Patrick moans, and it’s only now that Lewis notices Patrick is still hard. Pete palms him through his jeans, a teasing stroke just like the one his brother gave him a few minutes ago.

 

It takes a few moments but then, Pete has shoved down Patrick’s jeans and boxers down to his knees. The last time had been rushed, but now, the twins take their time to admire the dick they’ve only fleetingly glanced at the last time. It’s surprisingly big, and there’s a cute little stray freckle on the head, just begging to be explored with a tongue.

Sixteen and untouched by anyone else but them, sprawled out on their sheets with an expression that’s somewhere between panic, confusion and sheer want, Patrick looks irresistible. He’s young, sure, but so were the twins when they started to let other people drag them to their beds, into toilet stalls, let themselves get pressed against a wall in a club or the dark alleyway next to it. Nobody ever gave two shits about the words _underage, illegal_ and _jailbait_ being attached to _them_.

And really, what does age matter if the burning aches in their hearts just needed to be relieved? How young had Lewis been the first time they discovered what their hands were capable of? At what tender age did they start exploring the abilities of each other’s mouth? They had barely been teens by the time they had figured out what sex is, how it works, and how much they _need_ this.

If that is the way it worked for Pete and Lewis, it can’t be wrong.

They’re not perverts, they’re not preying on someone, they’re not hurting Patrick. All they do is show him how to become even closer with them.

 

Pete tugs at Patrick’s shirt, only to be rewarded with a glare as his hand is slapped away. A shame, really, the twins are longing to peel away every layer and see all of Patrick, naked and exposed. For now, though, the shirt has to stay on, same with the hat that miraculously still sits atop Patrick’s messy hair. But there are more pressing matters than stupid teenage insecurity right now.

The twins exchange a look. “You do it,” Lewis mouths to Pete. Patrick’s cock looks inviting, but Lewis has had enough for today. It’s only fair if Pete gives a little back. Pete sends him a grin, then takes Patrick’s dick into his hand. Patrick gasps, but stays silent. He looks unsure of what to do, torn between silly regrets and screaming, or the need to beg and hiss and plead for more. He does neither, but Pete doesn’t need an invitation to suck his cock. Pete mimics what Lewis did earlier – a few broad, teasing stripes licked over the shaft, tongue swirling around the head, slow and sensual. Pete knows it looks good as well – he’s seen his twin doing it just now, he knows he looks like a mirrored version of Lewis from Patrick’s perspective – keeps his eyes fixed on Patrick as he continues to tease.

That is not appreciated very much. “Oh God, Pete, stop – stop fucking around,” Patrick groans, and he sounds like anger and lust are winning over his doubts. “I swear, ah! – If you’re just playing around here I’ll _kill_ you.”

Pete rolls his eyes; goddamn teenagers won’t appreciate anything. Lewis sighs, and leans closer to Patrick, almost close enough for their lips to meet. Patrick makes a whiny noise at the back of his throat, but Lewis refrains from kissing him for now. “Want him to quit the bullshit and get you off already?” He asks as he curls his fingers around Pete’s hair. Patrick isn’t brave enough to do so, his hands clutching uselessly into the sheets. It’s kind of cute how he manages to be shy even while having his cock sucked.

The hand of his twin fisted into his hair feels familiar, and Pete feels safe with letting Lewis guide him; they know each other’s limits, and Pete would trust his brother blindly, always, with everything.

With seemingly rough yet carefully calculated gestures Lewis guides his brother’s head; after a while, Patrick is getting a little more adventurous, bucking his hips and whining into Lewis’ mouth. His shirt has to stay on, but the hat has fallen off, and his hands are gripping into Lewis’ arm and Pete’s shoulder.

Unsurprisingly, Patrick doesn’t last long. All teenage inexperience, he comes within less than two minutes, whining and moaning as Pete keeps sucking his dick until Patrick’s orgasm is over. Lewis lets go of his brother and Pete pulls away, wipes away the drool from his mouth as the taste of Patrick’s cum lingers on his tongue. Lewis interrupts making out with Patrick – which, really, had been more Lewis kissing Patrick than the other way around, with Patrick too caught up in what was happening down south – and turns to his brother. There’s a devious grin on Pete’s lips, which are soon pressed against his twin’s, exchanging saliva and the taste of someone else. Someone new. A part of them that’s slowly settling more and more into their world.

Lewis considers dragging Pete closer, down to the bed again, entangling their limbs and hands. He hasn’t gotten off yet, the semi in his pants making it clear there’s still the possibility of an orgasm. If this were just the two of them, Lewis wouldn’t hesitate, but with the new presence in their life in the form of a panting teenager still laying in their bed, Lewis decides to put it off for now. Patrick is more important now. Besides, Pete won’t go anywhere, he’ll still be there when Patrick’s gone and the lights are out, enough opportunities to catch up on that lost orgasm.

 

Patrick has pulled up his underwear and pants, still breathing heavily, yet staying suspiciously silent.

 

The beds aren’t meant for more than one person, and barely fit the two of them anymore. It’s even more difficult with three people. It’s another silent reminder that their world has changed, and that they need to make and work out space for someone else.

After some silent cursing, both Pete and Lewis manage to wiggle next to Patrick, with Lewis flush against Patrick’s back, and Pete pressed against Patrick’s front. It feels weird, to have someone in between them. With time, they’re sure they can figure out how to get comfortable with a third body entering the equation.

 

“I don’t – I don’t know what the hell you’re doing to me,” Patrick says quietly as he rests his head against Pete’s chest. “I don’t know what you expect from me.”

“We aren’t doing anything _to_ you, silly,” Pete says affectionately as he cards his hand to Patrick’s hair. It’s thinner and softer than Lewis’, just like Patrick’s skin feels slightly off under Pete’s hands. It’s not yet safe and familiar, but they’re getting there. “Whatever we do, we’re doing together.”

“We don’t expect anything from you,” Lewis continues. “We just want you to let us in a little.”

“Why me?” Patrick whispers.

Pete lets out a light chuckle. “Because you’re a part of us now. And we want to make you happy.”

“Because we love you the most,” Lewis says sweetly, burying his head in the nape of Patrick’s neck. It’s different from holding Pete close, a different smell and a differently formed body, white skin and blond hair and limbs that haven’t exactly figured out how to hold someone else in them. “Because you’re our best friend, and we only want the best for you.”

“You guys are weird.” Patrick shakes his head, but despite that, his voice sounds gentle, and he lets the twins keep hugging him.  

“Don’t worry,” Pete says with a small laugh, “you’ll understand.”

 

 

That weekend, the band plays their first gig.

 

It’s… It’s not disastrous, but it’s very much not good. So much so that their drummer quits after the first performance. That earns the twins a nasty look and an unsaid snobby “told you so” from Patrick once he’s done freaking out after the show. Patrick had been nervous and awkward, insecurity radiating from every inch of his body, voice breaking off a few times, and he kept clutching the mic stand as if he would crumble to the ground the second he let go (which might very well be true, but even Pete and Lewis are smart enough not to call Patrick out on that).

Joe’s the one who is the least startled, cracking a few jokes and trying to convince Patrick he wasn’t half-bad, and that there’s still a lot of untapped potential. After Pete and Lewis overcome their initial slight disappointment that the world hasn’t changed immediately, and that this was merely the first tiny step in a long, long journey, they eventually join Joe’s laugh, and his efforts to cheer up a grumpy Patrick. It’s three against one, and after a few days, when Joe gets Mike to drum for them and the twins present Patrick with another potential gig, Patrick caves in and agrees to get on stage again.

The next few shows (which Patrick claims is a description too generous for playing in front of a few dozen drunken teens and adults – only to go unheard by his more optimistic bandmates) go a little better. Mike is a decent drummer, and he’s far more reliable than the previous ones, which finally gets Patrick to shut up. Joe is all teenage enthusiasm anyway, and since the whole band still lives at home with no worries about rent or bills or responsibilities, no one complains that they only get paid in beer and pizza.

 

After the few slightly more successful gigs, everyone feels confident enough to settle for a band name. There are heated debates over it and friends get pulled into the discussion. Joe and Patrick as well as the majority of everyone else bothered by the twins about their newest project is in favor of a Simpsons reference – _Fall Out Boy_ , which Pete and Lewis initially find kind of lame. But the argument is settled next time they stand in front of a semi-attentive crowd, and when Pete experimentally introduces their band with a long, made up name – only to receive a “fuck that, you’re Fall Out Boy!” as an answer.

Pete pouts, but Lewis just laughs as he slings his arms around Pete. Joe gives them a big thumbs-up, and Patrick sends them another sneer with an unsaid “told you so”. But there’s a sparkle in Joe’s eyes, and there’s confidence and trust in Patrick’s smile as he turns to the crowd, and Lewis whispers “hey, the name isn’t that bad, c’mon!” to his twin, his lips as well as the rest of his body almost a little too close to Pete to pass off as brotherly.

 

And so, Fall Out Boy is born.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!   
> Like it? Love it? Hate it? Please leave your thoughts in a comment, it's what motivates me to keep going (and to update faster ;))!
> 
> Find me [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com) on tumblr, I do more art there!


	5. You're Gonna Need Someone On Your Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again! Thanks to Snitches for being such a patient and encouraging beta reader!~

It happens after one of their first gigs. It’s in a small club that barely deserves to be called that; a show that was less a show and more of a bunch of dudes with instruments trying to combat bad acoustics and a loud crowd. It wasn’t _awful_ , not completely, but it also wasn’t exactly _great_ yet.

 

Still, Patrick feels they have given their best performance so far. Which makes him all the angrier when afterwards, as instruments are about to be put away, some metalhead crashes into him on purpose. The guy isn’t drunk, just tipsy enough to forget any manners (if he had anyto begin with), and Patrick is seventeen and about one foot smaller, an obvious, easy target.

“You sounded like shit,” the guy half-shouts. It’s clear enough for Patrick to hear, and loud enough to garner the attention of the first bystanders. Patrick frowns, tucks his hat deeper over his eyes. Anger jolts through him, but he’s trying not to make a scene. He’ll need thick skin if he really wants to pull off the whole front man bullshit, he can’t afford to get angry at every asshole that hurls petty insults at him.

“You sounded like shit,” the guy repeats, completely aware that the people around him can hear him. It’s intentional. The air is loaded with tension, with the beginning hunger for a fight, with the want for blood, the perverse spectacle of _seeing_. “And you, you look like you’re what, fourteen? That why your band is called Fall Out _Boy_?” The guy takes a step closer, and Patrick balls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. “Have you even been through puberty yet? Because your voice sure doesn’t sound like it. Leave the singing to an adult who can actually fucking perform, weirdo. Go home to mommy and –“

 

Patrick’s fist collides with his face before the sentence is finished. All the previous anxiety and nervousness unravels, and rage is the only emotion left. It’s fucking stupid, Patrick knows that, knew it even before his hands balled into fists, but he is young and reckless, and the same vicious crowd he had been afraid of is now staring at him again, almost as if they expect him to fail, and _fuck_ that, _fuck all of them_.

The punch isn’t even a good one, only socking the guy in the jaw, causing him to stumble backwards a little before catching himself. There’s a moment of silence as everyone seems to collectively hold their breath. It’s the moment Patrick should use to sneak away, like a smart person. He stands no chance, but he’s not a fucking coward, and if these people came to see a show, might as well give them what they paid for. Patrick regrets putting his glasses back on after the show, because not only does he look infinitely less threatening, they also enable him to see everyone’s faces sharp and clear. Leering eyes, grinning mouths, the underlying promise of violence.

 

“The fuck is going on here, huh?” A familiar voice speaks up next to Patrick, followed by two familiar faces entering his field of vision. It’s Pete and Lewis, of course, no surprise – the two of them are always drawn to chaos and getting themselves in trouble.

“You got a problem?” Pete’s pretty cocky for a man talking to someone who’s literally seconds away from beating them all into the ground. The guy is here for a fight, and the twins’ attitude only fuels his anger.

“Fuck off, faggot. I didn’t talk to _you_ , so keep out of it.” The guy, obviously not interested in losing time with talking, harshly pushes Pete back, and that’s his mistake. As Pete yelps and falls to the ground, Lewis lets out a vicious snarl, and instantly abandons whatever civility held him back before. The impact of his punch nicely complements the bruise Patrick already left on the guy’s jaw. Before the dude can react, Pete is back on his feet, slamming into the guy with his whole body. Which wouldn’t be very impressive given his small frame, but it’s very effective when the exact copy of that frame slams into the guy just a second after, and the double impact is enough to make the guy crash to his back.

 

Once he’s down, the fight is pretty much won.

Patrick remembers that he can move, and since the fight was started by him, it might be best to help finish it. Everything happened so fast, Patrick’s not really sure what to do, so he just mirrors what Pete does by putting his feet on the guy’s wrist. It stops him from moving, though the main reason for the lack of resistance is Lewis’ boot digging into the guy’s throat in a very painful-looking way.

The crowd around them keeps staring, waiting for the grand finale. Patrick’s throat is tight, his mouth feels dry, and his head is spinning. He’s not made for being the center of attention. If it weren’t for the twins by his side, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the slightly laughable tough guy act.

 

Thankfully, the twins also do the talking. “You can say whatever you want about us,” Pete hisses, loud enough to ensure everyone else is hearing it as well. He’s speaking to their audience, too, and the twins know how to work with people. “But don’t you fucking _dare_ insult Patrick like that, you piece of shit.”

There’s no answer; of course not, seeing as Lewis’ boot is still placed on the guy’s throat, cutting off the air and any potential answer from the guy. Lewis speaks up now, sneering at the guy in disgust. “Do that again and we won’t be playing around anymore. _Fuck you_.”

Pete looks around, anger in his eyes and the promise of violence in his posture. “Anyone else wanna add something?”

The tension is almost palpable, and Patrick looks around nervously. One false word, and everything is going to escalate.

“Well, fine, Wentz, the singer was alright,” someone in the crowd yells, “too bad his band sucked!”

There’s laughter, and Pete hisses indignantly while Lewis flashes his middle finger in the vague direction of where the comment came from, but the tension is gone. The laughter isn’t malicious, the remark meant more in jest than actual criticism, and the crowd dissolves, knowing that the fight, the spectacle they came for, is over. No one is interested in participating anymore, so everyone just leaves, and finds something new to entertain themselves with. Beer, all kinds of other alcohol, and looking out for the next potential of a bloody fight.

 

Patrick takes a step back, releasing the guy’s arm from under his foot. The twins do the same, and their victim sits up, red-faced, coughing and cussing. No one cares to help him, seeing that he has lost spectacularly against a dorky teen and two not very threatening-looking twins, which stamped him as a pathetic fool in the eyes of the audience. “Fuck you, assholes,” he mutters under his breath, “go suck each other’s dicks, sickos.”

“Maybe we’ll do that,” Pete says in a condescending voice. “Cowards like you get off to that like crazy.”

“No need to be jealous just because we won’t suck _your_ pathetic little prick,” Lewis sneers, then both of them let out a short, braying laugh.

Finally, Joe emerges from between the crowd. He looks a little confused as he missed the fight, and only sees the ugly aftermath. He’s holding a beer bottle – the club obviously doesn’t give a fuck that everything about Joe screams _minor_ – as he cautiously approaches three of his bandmates.

“Uh, you guys got in a fight?” Joe asks  virtually unintelligible, and Patrick wonders if he managed to talk someone out of their weed as payment for today’s performance. He looks at the beaten-up guy who just managed to stand up, still massaging his throat. “Hey, dude, you okay?”

“The fuck are you, eh?” The guy groans as he fully stands up. “Are you one of the Wentz guys’ bandmembers? Pathetic, another cocksucker teen -”

Before Joe can react, Pete has torn the bottle out of his hand, and with one sharp swing, he empties most of it right into the guy’s face.

“You should know when a fight’s lost. Next time,” Pete says in a low, threatening voice, “next time, that bottle will be thrown right into your face, and hopefully break some bones.”

 

For a fraction of a second, the guy looks torn. It’s all too easy to start a new fight, and frankly, the twins only won mostly because of luck. They might not have that the next time, and the only people to back them up are a bespectacled nervous Patrick and an alarmed-looking, possibly high Joe. On the other hand, he’s already been humiliated once, and the dissolving crowd isn’t on his side anymore.

Ultimately, the possibility of another, even more humiliating defeat lets the guy just spit out in front of the twins’ feet as he flips everyone off. “Whatever, fuckers. Have fun with that shitty band of yours.”

“Oh, you’ll be seeing us again!” Pete shouts after him, because he too is a sore loser, that much Patrick knows.

“Remember us when we’re famous, maybe you can make a few bucks out of this story!” Lewis yells, because of course, he too just can’t resist having the last word just like his brother.

Patrick sighs, and rubs his temples. This really didn’t go according to plan. The band finally has a name, and that’s the first thing people will remember? Just great. It doesn’t exactly bring up his hopes.

“You spilled my beer,” Joe says bewildered. “The fuck, Pete? Go get your own beer if you need to prove a point!”

Pete just rolls his eyes. “I’ll get you a new one, Trohman. You should be glad that I’m defending your name here, too.”

“Yeah thanks, I don’t need my honor saved by _you_ of all people,” Joe answers with a chuckle. “Now you better make good on that promise and get me a new beer.”

“You better get all of us one,” Patrick interjects. The club doesn’t give two shits about alcohol policy, and they’re getting paid in beer, so Patrick is determined to squeeze out as much of it as possible.

Technically, he is the one who started the fight, but hey, that’s not his fault. The guy picked on him with the very intention of starting trouble, it would have gone to shit either way. Pete and Lewis say the same when Joe asks for more details, and they repeat it to Mike, who just huffs and leaves, not interested in drama. And soon enough, it’s forgotten in the mix of alcohol and adrenaline anyway.

 

 

Patrick and Joe are staying at the twins’ afterwards. It’s the only way for Patrick to avoid his mom’s otherwise strict curfew, and the only way to avoid letting them find out Patrick’s a little tipsy, and Joe is still high. Just a little. After all, they had to make sure to get out as much of their payment as possible.

Somehow, the twins have sweet talked both their moms into thinking they are _responsible adults who know the scene and will totally make sure no one’s going to lay hand on your son, miss!_ and _no, the club has strict policies, we’re just there to play, not to party_! It’s impressive, really, how they can almost pull off the act of the _good-mannered upper-middle-class lawyer’s sons_ , but Patrick isn’t going to question the twins’ manipulation and little white lies if those get him out of the boring suburbs, and into a little bit of fun. And Joe is too out of it to question anything. He’s fast asleep by the time the van door is shut, only waking up momentarily to drag himself up to the twins’ room before collapsing onto one of the beds. Soft snoring suggests he’s out of it the second his face hits the pillows.

Patrick feels exhausted as well, but there’s still a little alcohol and adrenaline rushing through his system, and two twins who never seem to be tired drag him down to the other bed. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, the bed is clearly not made for three people no matter how small they are. The twins are oddly silent, just giving him a few harmless affectionate kisses as they try to figure out how to work their bodies into the bed.

Apparently, the solution they come up with includes Lewis leaning against the headboard, with Patrick’s head on his lap, and with Pete between Patrick’s legs. It’s almost pitch black in the room, yet Patrick couldswear there’s a big grin mirrored on both twins’ faces.

 

“You did so well tonight,” Pete purrs in a low voice.

“Fucking hot, seeing you all angry and determined,” Lewis whispers as he gently strokes over Patrick’s forehead. “’S fucking powerful. Try be like that on stage, and the crowd will eat you up.”

“I don’t think I can,” Patrick mumbles, “I don’t think I want to. I’m not made for the spotlight, I just… All I want to do is to make music. I don’t want all this attention on me.”

There’s a small laugh from the twins, who, of course, don’t share these views. They are on stage to be _seen_.

Patrick clenches his hands into fists. “But here’s the thing – I can fight my own battles. I don’t need you to protect me like I’m some sort of baby.”

“They’re _our_ battles now, idiot. We’re fighting _with_ you, no matter what.” Pete sounds determined, and Patrick knows blindly that Lewis is nodding, that of course he agrees with his twin because they seemingly agree on everything. It’s slightly unnerving sometimes.

“We’ll make the world listen to your music,” Pete continues as he runs his hand over Patrick’s knees, up his thighs, and fuck. Patrick has to swallow, has to will himself into forgetting that Pete’s hands are dangerously close to his crotch.

“They’re going to hear you, Patrick,” Lewis whispers affectionately, “but if you don’t want them to bother you, we’ll always be there to protect you.”

“Are _we_ still allowed to pay close attention to you?” Pete sounds amused, but there’s something else in his voice. A darker, sultry undertone, underlined by his twin’s fingers gently running over Patrick’s lips, then down his throat and under his shirt.

Is that what qualifies as attention? Patrick isn’t sure, but what he knows is that Lewis’ calloused fingers feel so good on his naked skin, feel even better when they pinch his nipples just slightly, causing Patrick to gasp for air. What he knows is that Pete’s hands are undoing his belt, then dip under the waistband on his boxers, and when they brush over Patrick’s half-hard cock, _yes_ and _please_ are the only words Patrick is capable of saying. What he knows is that Joe might be lying just a few feet away from them but who cares, Joe is asleep, he won’t even notice, and really, would that be so wrong?

 

Clearly, Pete and Lewis don’t think it is. So how can it be wrong?

 

Pete yanks down Patrick’s pants and underwear, and before he can protest, both items land on the ground, followed by his socks next. Embarrassment heats up Patrick’s face; the twins may have seen his dick before, but he hadn’t been this… This _exposed_. It feels weird, laying on his back, naked from the waist downwards, legs spread and trembling slightly in the cold air. Patrick feels vulnerable and somewhat ridiculous, and he’s glad that the darkness of the night covers him up at least a little. The twins _doing_ anything is one thing, but them _seeing_ him… Patrick can’t deal with that yet.

Pete’s hands are back on Patrick, stroking over his thighs, cupping his balls, trailing over his cock, frustratingly light and teasing. Patrick considers telling him to quit the bullshit and just suck his dick, but Joe in the bed next to him, mumbling in his sleep, makes him reconsider letting out _any_ noises.

“How are you feeling, Patrick?” Pete whispers, which is kind of a stupid question when the evidence of what Patrick feels is right there in his hand, hard and throbbing.

“Weird,” Patrick whispers back eventually. There’s lust and arousal, there’s fear, there’s the slightly perverse thrill that Joe doesn’t know, will never know, that this moment will never belong to anyone but them. Patrick loves Joe, he really does, and so do the twins, but he loves having this side of Pete and Lewis all for himself even more.

There’s the need for Pete’s mouth on his cock, for Lewis hands exploring soft skin under his shirt, but at the same time, there’s shame for the less than perfect body Lewis’ hands will find, there’s embarrassment for having Pete sit between his spread legs.

There’s a soft laugh from the twins. “You’re adorable,” Lewis says.

Adorable? Patrick can’t help but blush. That’s one of the last words he wants to hear right now. It makes him feel like he’s a child. _Puppies_ are adorable. Patrick isn’t. “Oh, fuck off,” Patrick mumbles back. “I- ah, fuck…!”

Whatever clever words he had wanted to say vanish as Pete bows down, tightens his grip around Patrick’s cock, and licks a stripe over the shaft. Then another, then another, then Patrick has to slams his hand over his mouth, desperate not to spill any more traitorous moans. Pete has barely even started, yet he’s already panting and gasping like the pathetic virgin he feels he is. But Pete is ruthless, and it doesn’t help that his twin’s hands are still stroking over Patrick’s skin, blunt nails digging into just the right sensitive spots on his chest, tracing his neck and jaw, _fuck_.

“Guys, ah – I can’t –!”

“Can’t keep quiet?” Pete finishes the sentence for him. “Well, you have to unless you wanna wake up our friend here.”

Patrick thrashes his head when he feels Pete’s tongue pressing against his shaft, and brings up his arm to his mouth, intending to bite into the soft pale skin as hard as he needs to keep quiet.

“I have a better idea,” Lewis whispers, then gently moves Patrick’s arm away. He gestures something to Pete, and then Patrick feels their hands encouraging him to move. He lets himself get maneuvered on all fours, then he hears the zipper of Lewis’ pants being undone.

 

It’s too dark to make out much details, but Patrick is pretty sure he knows exactly what Lewis’ cock looks like anyway – just like Pete’s, dark and heavy in his hands, aching to be touched, no, aching to be touched by _Patrick_. It’s exciting for Patrick to see that he’s had such an effect on someone like Lewis, that he’s given the older, more experienced, _hot_ guy a boner without even doing much.

Pride and determination won’t allow Patrick to deny. He reaches out for Lewis’ dick, and he’s glad that in the gloomy room, no one can make out his facial expression. He’s a little unsure of what to do – getting a blowjob is a lot easier than giving one.

“C’mon, Patrick, just suck it,” Lewis says through gritted teeth. “I’ll make Pete go back to work too, okay?”

Well, Patrick can’t really argue with that. He’s still so hard, his own cock demands some attention as well. He runs his tongue over the head of Lewis’ cock. It feels kind of nice, velvet-smooth and hot, and it tastes kind of strange, salty and bitter and similar to the kiss he has exchanged with Lewis after he had sucked off Pete.

It’s awkward, Patrick hasn’t quite worked out how to handle a dick in his mouth, much less anywhere near his throat. The twins made it look so easy. And then, Patrick feels Pete’s hands on his ass, Pete’s tongue on his tail bone, _why –_

 

_Oh._

 

Realization hits Patrick the second Pete’s tongue flicks against his hole, warm and wet and weird. Patrick loses momentum, and lets Lewis’ cock slide out of his mouth. Pete does it again, this time with more pressure, a firm tongue licking a stripe down Patrick’s cleft and _fuck, that’s, that’s –_

“Pete,” Patrick mumbles, trying desperately not to cry and whine, to avoid loud noises that would wake Joe up, “Pete, that’s… No, that’s _gross_ …”

“It’s not _gross_ , dummy,” Lewis answers for his brother. “It’s a human body, it’s not made of sunshine and rainbows. We can deal with that.”

There’s more objections on Patrick’s mind, like the fact that he’s all sweaty and hasn’t showered, that Joe is right next to them, and can you get an STD from someone licking your ass? Then again, they’ve already exchanged a fair share of body fluids –

 

It all vanishes as Pete keeps on going, and although it’s still weird, both the feeling and the thought that someone’s tongue is pressed to his ass, it gradually starts to feel better and better.

Patrick moans involuntarily, before he feels Lewis’ hand in his hair. He’s not pulling it, but the meaning behind it is clear.

Turns out that sucking cock really isn’t as easy as the porn Patrick secretly watches when he’s home alone or with his door locked makes it seem to be. It’s not as easy as the twins made it look either. There’s so much work involved with keeping up a pace, trying not to choke, damn it, and the fact that Pete’s tongue keeps doing _things_ doesn’t make it easier.

Then, Pete stops again, and Patrick has to suppress a whine. He can feel how Pete leans forward, pressing two fingers into Lewis’ mouth, before leaning back. Now, instead of a tongue, there’s a wet finger circling over Patrick’s hole. “You want?” Pete asks, and Patrick isn’t really sure, but Lewis’ cock in his mouth makes it hard to talk, and his own aching hard-on makes thinking straight even harder.

The silence is taken as approval. The tips of Pete’s fingers breach the ring of muscles, then slowly push in further. Patrick inhales sharply, glad that the dick in his mouth prevents him from letting out any more embarrassing sounds. He’s tried fingering himself a few times, but never with more than one finger, and never so deep, and someone else’s fingers are so much harder to accept. Everything in him wants to fight against the foreign presence.

“You need to relax,” Pete whispers unhelpfully. Patrick considers stopping sucking Lewis’ cock to explain that it’s really hard to just _relax_ with two fingers up his ass, but at that moment, Pete’s finger brush something inside of him that instantly erases any coherent thoughts.

 _What the fuck_ and _yes_ and _no, this is too weird_ and _fuck, yes, please, more!_ _Ah, again_! all simultaneously jolt through Patrick’s mind, then Pete’s fingers rub over the same spot again.

 

It’s so overwhelming, yet still not enough to let him come. Patrick keeps moaning around Lewis’ cock, sloppily sliding his tongue over the shaft, too much spit wetting his hand. He knows that what he’s doing is probably far from being good. But it’s his first try, and Pete’s hand around his own cock doesn’t make it easier to focus on someone else’s. Plus, Pete’s fingers are now joined by Pete’s tongue again, and how do they expect him to focus on everything equally at once?

Patrick feels like he’s about to explode, he’s so fucking close to coming, with all these strange new sensations keeping him on the edge. Patrick bucks his hips, tries to simultaneously fuck harder into Pete’s hand, yet also grind closer to Pete’s fingers buried inside of him. It’s too much, too much, too much, and then Lewis lets his thumb run over Patrick’s lips as his other hand digs into his shoulder, Pete brushes his prostate again, and with that, Patrick finally comes.

This orgasm isn’t like any previous one he’s had, because never before had there been two fingers up his ass, a tongue licking over the wrinkled skin, a dick in his mouth, and two twins clutching their hands into his naked skin all too eagerly. Patrick feels like he’s about to pass out as his vision blurs, he can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and if it weren’t for the limited space, he’d just collapse forward to his stomach. Lewis’ dick slides out of his mouth, but Patrick really can’t be bothered. He faintly registers a muttered swear from Lewis, before Pete leans over him, eager to lend his brother a hand.

Patrick is hot and sweaty, with Pete leaning over him not helping, and it’s kind of gross when Lewis finally comes with a small moan, spilling cum all over Patrick’s shoulder and his back. It’s even more gross when Pete follows a few seconds later with the help of Lewis’ hand, though Patrick can’t deny it is thrilling that Pete got so aroused just by touching him.

 

Thankfully, Lewis has the decency to get a tissue from somewhere, and rub away most of the mess on Patrick’s skin. Patrick still feels gross between his legs, there’s so much spit and he feels sore and empty, but there isn’t enough energy left in him to say anything. Soon enough, he finds himself in the middle of the twins, with too many arms and legs on and next to him.

 

“You’re disgusting,” Patrick mumbles when he trusts his voice enough. “Also, give me back my underwear, I can’t sleep with my dick rubbing against your jeans. It hurts.”

“Oh, you love us anyway, Stump.” Pete laughs a little, while Lewis tries to find the discarded boxers, which takes him a few moments in the darkness. Patrick considers asking for his pants, but then Lewis lays down next to him again, and with three people in one bed it’s already hot and uncomfortable enough, no need to add jeans to that.

Pete hums as he pulls Patrick a little closer to his chest. Patrick isn’t sure if he likes being the little spoon, but then again, with two people to cuddle at the same time, he doesn’t really need to choose between either. Lewis is facing him, but when Patrick mumbles something and makes a vague gesture, he turns around. It feels really good that the twins trust him so much, that they listen and do as he says, and burying his head in Lewis’ shoulder as he pulls him closer makes Patrick’s heart skip a beat.

Joe’s still just a few feet away, snoring softly and completely unbothered by the chaos in the bed next to him. And Patrick can’t help but snuggle closer to Pete, and put his arms around Lewis a little tighter, thinking _mine, mine, mine_ before he falls asleep.  

 

 

 

Next morning comes with a slight hangover for Patrick. He rubs his eyes as he sits up and reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. The twins are already up, lazing around on the bed. Why they do that when there’s so little space here, Patrick doesn’t know, but he can’t bring himself to care. He notices his severe lack of pants, and the memories of yesterday flood into his mind, manifesting in a traitorous blush. Patrick tries to hide his face as best as he can when he reaches for his discarded jeans.

Joe is awake as well, clearly still a little disoriented and sleepy. He half-heartedly stretches his limbs, yawns, then realization hits him. “Why are you guys all crammed into one bed? You could’ve slept in my bed, Patrick,” Joe asks confused.

“Yeah, no. You fucking reek of pot,” Patrick counters, and really, that’s not a lie. He’s just omitting part of the truth here. “You know I can’t stand the smell of smoking, much less pot, and the beer I drank didn’t help with that.”

“But you can sleep with two sweaty guys in your bed? That’s gay, dude.” Joe laughs a little, but Patrick bites his lip as shame floods him, and any reasonable excuse or explanation escapes his mind. It’s a little hard defending his ground when Joe is so close to the truth.

“Well, Joe, next time, we’ll spoon _you_ ,” Pete interjects, and Lewis adds: “Two hot guys like us are going to turn your hetero ass gay within no time, don’t worry.”

“No thanks guys,” Joe says and holds up his hands. “I’m very much interested in keeping my ass hetero, if you get what I mean.”

“You’re too narrow-minded, Trohman. See, I know this great trick –“ Pete leaps forward, and throws Joe to the mattress. They squabble a little, though it’s obvious that the intention is playful only. Lewis shakes his head, but unlike usually, he doesn’t join in on the banter. Instead, he leans closer to Patrick.

“Don’t worry, Patrick, we’re just joking. You’re the only one for us.” Lewis says it with a wink and a smile, yet Patrick knows he means every word he says.

 

And that leaves Patrick weirdly relieved. It’s worth the little convenient lie, it’s worth holding back part of the truth. Patrick knows it’s the right thing to do when Lewis brushes a short but sweet kiss to his cheek and when Pete (done with fighting Joe, who is already half-way out the door with the intention to get some breakfast), blows them both a kiss as well before he breaks into a big grin.

 

 

The twins manage to land them a few more gigs, and eventually, they all end up in a basement, huddled over their instruments, recording the first cassette tape. It sounds exactly like a cassette tape recorded in a shitty basement, and Patrick sneers when he listens back to it. _This_ is what’s supposed to make them famous? Patrick is seventeen and impatient, and the world seems full of opportunities for him, and he can’t help but wonder if Fall Out Boy really is the band that’s going to make it.

No such doubt from his band members though. While the drummer position seems to stay cursed, with Mike being only half-hearted into the band now that he found a job and has less time for teenage dreams, Hurley still not interested, and various other members that the twins pull from their hardcore scene connection coming and going, everyone else is excited. Joe is hopelessly optimistic, and the twins are determined to make this band work. They’re promoting the band at every chance they get, be it at events, or any platform on the internet they can find.

It works, somehow, there’s a whisper of something bigger, and one day at band practice (sans drummer again, hence the little productivity), the two grinning brothers reveal that there’s someone from a record label who has taken an interest in them, and offered to record their songs on something more quality than amateur tapes. They don’t have the details yet, but that doesn’t matter.

 

Things are finally starting to move, and Patrick just lets himself get caught up in Joe’s excitement, and in two pairs of twin hands all over his body once they’re alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on my tumblr [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com), come say hi!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you liked it (or not), please feel free to leave a comment, those are what keep me going!


	6. Ambitious Outsiders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who is back! It's time for some twins, and lots of filth.
> 
> Thanks to Snitches for beta reading, and for all the love and support for this fic!

Patrick has gotten better at sucking dick. He’s not as awkward, he’s learned a little about what the twins like, and his mouth, his goddamn mouth was _made_ to be stretched around a cock.

There’s a little too much spit, Patrick’s movements are hasty, he is all too eager to impress. His golden lashes flutter when he looks up to Lewis, questioning, searching for approval, and yeah, his mouth is hot and warm, clever little tongue pressing against Lewis’ cock, and the obscene stretch of his pink lips completes the perfect image of voluptuousness. He deserves some reassurance. “Good, Patrick,” Lewis whispers as he gently cards his hand through Patrick’s hair – no pulling, Patrick doesn’t like that, he can’t handle letting someone else set the pace yet – “so fucking good – yes, fuck, your mouth feels amazing…!”

It’s a little distracting to have to say these things. When it’s just the two of them, the twins don’t need to speak much, they know each other’s bodies and abilities, a soft smile, small moan or blunt nails digging into inked skin is often enough to communicate. Lewis knows his tongue and mouth can please his brother, because the exact same pair of lips always work his own cock so well.

But Patrick is seventeen and still clueless, and despite the twins’ best tries, he’s still radiating insecurity from every inch of his body. It manifests in the way he tugs his hat over his eyes whenever they play on stage (no matter how pitifully tiny the crowd is), how he will put away his glasses so that he doesn’t have to see their audience’s faces, and right now, it’s present in the form of his shirt, sweat-soaked yet still clinging to his frame.

Patrick has let the twins take his pants off, though right now, Pete is just sitting next to them, watching; and Patrick has one hand occupied with Lewis’ cock, and the other with keeping him steady while he’s on all fours. Pete is tempted to lean over and wrap a hand around Patrick’s half-hard dick, it’s basically begging for attention. He refrains – Patrick has just started to figure out how to give a proper blowjob, but he’s seventeen and horny, he’s rendered useless when someone touches his own dick.

Lewis looks at Pete now, motions towards the teen in his lap, and Pete nods. It’s hot, hearing Lewis praise Patrick and seeing how flattered Patrick is, he’s young and no one has ever paid him such compliments and attention. Which is a shame, but the twins will make up for all the time the world dared to ignore their golden boy. And it’s Pete’s turn now.

“Look at you, so fucking hot,” Pete says as he lays on his side, head resting on one hand while the other strokes over Patrick’s neck. From this angle, he can see Patrick’s widened eyes, flushed cheeks, Lewis cock in his mouth. Pete tugs the mental image away for another time, for when Patrick sucks his cock again, it’s so damn satisfying to know exactly how that looks from every angle. “So perfect,” Pete purrs; Patrick has slowed down, eyes fixed on Pete, hungry and desperate for more words. “You’re so pretty, Patrick!” Pete lets his finger wander over Patrick’s lips, relishes in the feel of stretched wet skin. “Lewis and I agree on that, don’t we?”

“Of fucking course,” Lewis says through gritted teeth; he’s close, Pete can tell, so he stops the playful banter for now. Patrick’s hand curls tight around the base of Lewis’ cock, pink tongue licking over the shaft, and he picks up speed again.

Lewis groans when Patrick’s lips meet the fist that’s holding his dick; he can feel the dawn of his orgasm low in his stomach, heat pouring into his groin. There’s no need to hold back when release is so close, and only at the very last moment does his hazy brain remember that the mouth on his cock is not the usual well-trained one of his twin. “Patrick, fuck, I’m –“

Lewis comes before his warning is completed. He can feel how Patrick squirms, struggling a little as he tries not to choke. After some trial and error, they have established that Patrick doesn’t like to pull away, he doesn’t want  spit and drool cum all over himself and the sheets, nor does he want someone to come on his face. Which is fine, no, more than fine, it’s pretty damn amazing to be able to finish inside his mouth.

Finally, Patrick withdraws his mouth and wipes over his lips. Lewis feels warm and sated, relishes in the afterglow while he continues to card through Patrick’s hair. “So fucking good,” he repeats, a little uncreative in his choice of words, but the intent matters more.

“You’re the very best, Patrick.” Pete sits up as well, presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. He motions Patrick to sit up on his knees, and guides him even closer to Lewis. It’s a weird position, Patrick between Lewis’ spread legs, his dick pressing against Lewis’ chest.

“Finger him, Lewis,” Pete demands, voice low and sultry. Lewis doesn’t object, he’s had his fun, and now it’s time to please the other two people. Besides, he knows that mischievous glimmer in Pete’s eyes, knows that it means his twin must have an idea. And Lewis always loves whatever Pete comes up with.

With a grin, Lewis presses two fingers against Patrick’s mouth, lets an obedient little tongue wet them for him. He knows he won’t get it up again for a while, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a good show.

 

Patrick arches his back, tries to spread his legs a little, with little effect; he doesn’t have much room for that in their current position. Pete places his hands on Patrick’s hips, keeps him from shying away from his twin’s fingers as they wander between his cheeks. Patrick hisses when the first finger sinks into him, but he holds still. He’s breathing hard, seems to doubt this arrangement for a moment, before Lewis whispers some praise into his ear, which causes him to relax enough for the second finger.

“Tell me, Patrick,” Pete whispers, “ever thought about letting us fuck you?”

“I, well – I…” Patrick stutters, seemingly unsure whether he should confess or not. He never talks much during sex, usually lets the twins handle the words and their bodies. It’s a little irritating given how he usually doesn’t hold back with snide comments any other time, and the twins are always desperate for approval in any form from him, including verbal ones.

“Tell us the truth, Patrick,” Lewis demands, “we’re not lying to each other.”

“Yes,” Patrick finally confesses, and he’s rewarded with a kiss from Lewis, while Pete strokes over his back, his ass, hands coming to rest on his thighs. “Yes, I – ah, I do…”

“Take off your shirt, Patrick,” Pete says sweetly, tugging at the fabric. “C’mon, you don’t wanna wear this forever, do you?”

“Ah, we’ve thought about you being naked so much!” Lewis hums as he tugs at the hem of Patrick’s shirt. “Bet you make for a perfect sight, and wouldn’t it be hot, all naked and raw?”

“We’ll give you something in return.” Pete leans closer, presses a kiss to Patrick’s neck. “That’s only fair, right?”

That finally convinces Patrick, and he lets the twins drag off his shirt. More beautiful pale skin, the last hint of baby fat clinging to his hips and the last bit of puberty fading into some small red marks on his back. The twins don’t care, all that matters is that Patrick is one step closer to fully trusting them.

Pete gathers some spit in his mouth, then licks over his palm. It’s archaic, but they’re at Patrick’s, and like the inexperienced, thoughtless teen he is, he doesn’t keep lube or other useful items anywhere in his room. The spit does the job of slicking his cock a little, it’ll have to do for now.

Lewis pulls his fingers out almost all the way, just keeps the fingertips pressing lightly against Patrick’s entrance. Patrick whines at the loss, tries to grind closer again, only to be stopped by Pete. “Stop moving,” he growls, “and keep your legs together – yes, like that. Good boy.”

Patrick says nothing, just does as he is told, and then Pete leans over him, the head of his cock pressing between Patrick’s thighs. “Just imagine, Patrick,” Pete whispers, then slowly slides his cock between Patrick’s thighs, and Lewis begins thrusting his fingers into Patrick again.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick whimpers; now that he’s close, he seems more eager to talk, “Pete, please, just…!” Patrick doesn’t finish, doesn’t seem sure of his words, but that’s okay with the twins. They’ll wait for him, oh, he will see what he’s missing out, he will learn to love it, he will fucking want, want, _want_ nothing but to be complete with them.

Lewis crooks his fingers, tries to find the right spot, and after a few thrusts, Patrick’s wanton moan as he jerks his hips tells him he’s found it. “Good?” Lewis asks tentatively, he knows the answer, knows how good it feels, but a little recognition of his skills would be nice here.

There’s another low moan from Patrick, before he parts his lips for some actual words. “Yes, Lewis, fuck, so fucking good –“ His voice breaks off again when Patrick slumps forward a little, eloquence traded for whispering Lewis’ name. Lewis grins, exchanging a smirk with Pete over Patrick’s shoulder. It’s always a pleasure to hear Patrick moan and cry out their names, squirming and panting and not even knowing which of the twins to address anymore.

The promise of sex is so close, so tempting, and Pete knows that they all have the same mental image playing before their inner eye, all of them imagining Pete’s cock sliding between Patrick’s cheeks, sinking into the tight hole that his twin’s fingers currently thrust into.

 

“Wouldn’t you love it?” Pete asks through gritted teeth; he’s close already, he’s been hard ever since Patrick’s mouth sunk down on his twin’s cock and fucking Patrick’s thighs feels fantastic. “My dick up your ass, or Lewis buried deep inside of you – doesn’t matter who, does it? It would feel good, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” Patrick pants, “oh God – yes…!” He is bracing himself against the headboard with both arms now. He’s not touching himself, probably an attempt to draw this out as much as possible.

Pete won’t have any of that. Sure, Patrick’s thighs feel amazing, but Pete needs to get off, and he knows that the spit coating Lewis’ finger won’t last forever. He’s not in the mood to hear Patrick bitch about being sore again.

Lewis catches the impatience in Pete’s expression, and he feels that the fingers thrusting into Patrick are just on the edge of painfully dry. He reaches for Patrick’s cock, gives it a few slow, teasing tugs, before he starts jerking Patrick off for real. Patrick bites back a moan, rocks back against Lewis’ finger and Pete’s cock, thrusts into the hand around his cock again, delirious and hungry. He doesn’t last long, and Lewis strokes him through his orgasm, relishes in how Patrick tightens around his fingers, moans into his ear, shudders as he comes undone in the twins’ embrace.

A few moments later, Pete follows with a groan as he comes as well, cock still lodged between Patrick’s thighs and fingers digging into Patrick’s hips. The sensation is delicious, but the dirty implications, that little bit just temptingly out of reach fuels his orgasm even more.

The twins release the teen in their middle from their arms and hands, maneuver him to lay down so that they can have a proper look at him.

 

Patrick makes for a beautiful sight – hair disheveled, pretty parted lips, a landscape of pale skin just begging to be touched, stroked, licked and kissed by two greedy twins. A spent cock, tight pink hole wet from spit, a shiny red streak on each of his inner thighs where Pete’s cock rubbed against the soft flesh – it’s glorious, dirty, and it belongs to Pete and Lewis alone.

It only lasts for a few moments; then, Patrick sits up, winces a little while he does so. “Don’t stare at me like that,” he scowls, “it’s fucking creepy.” He’s only rewarded with two identical silent grins, making Patrick squirm while he reaches for his shirt and underwear. Two pairs of hands drag him back once he’s done getting dressed, in between two still naked bodies. The twins don’t bother with modesty.

After sex, once the afterglow wears off, Patrick usually finds his bratty attitude again. “Let me go. I feel gross.” He shoves the twins away, and stands up before they have a chance to grab him again. “Maybe a little warning before you come on me, asshole?” He flips Pete off while he grabs the rest of his clothes. “You know I hate that.”

“I can lick you clean if you want,” Pete offers with a big grin. Since Patrick doesn’t want to cuddle, the twins just help themselves. Pete lies his head on Lewis’ chest, slings his arm over him. Why does Patrick have to be so icky about everything? Goddamn virgins.

“Ew, no. I’ll take a shower, thanks.” With that, Patrick is out of the room.

With a sigh and a pout on his lips, Pete turns to Lewis instead. Lewis rolls his eyes, and pats his twin’s back. Pete relaxes into the touch, and feels his annoyance melt away.

“Patrick likes it,” Lewis mumbles, “Patrick likes _us_. He’s just seventeen and stupid, he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

Pete nods, cuddles closer to his brother. Lewis is warm and familiar, Lewis is safe and comforting.

“Don’t be too harsh on him,” Lewis continues while he runs his hand through Pete’s hair, “we’ve had all our lives together, and he’s been with us for such a short time. It’ll take time to teach him what’s right, to make him see it’s _us_ who are right, not the bullshit that the rest of the world told him.”

Patience isn’t one of the twins’ virtues, they both know that. Yet Pete nods again, because what else is there to do?

Patrick comes back into the room, freshly showered and completely dressed now. “Get your clothes back on,” he orders, “my mom’s gonna be back soon and she doesn’t need to see you naked.”

The twins do as they are told for once. They need to stay in Patricia’s good grace, after all. By the time they’re done, Patrick has sat down on the bed again, bossy attitude replaced with nervousness. He fiddles with his hands, doesn’t look up.

Pete straddles his lap, and Lewis climbs behind him, slings his arms around him. “You know we love you, don’t you?” Pete whispers, lips close enough to almost kiss. “We’re here for you, Patrick. Always,” Lewis adds, presses a kiss to Patrick’s neck.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks softly, as if this was the first time he heard these words. The answer is more kisses, then Lewis pulls Patrick down on the bed, straddles his hips. Patrick is seventeen and horny, he’s probably up for another round already, but work first.

“So,” Pete says as he lies down next to Patrick, props his head up on his elbow, a little grin on his lips knowing that everyone realizes what had happened just a few minutes ago when Pete had been in this exact same position. “So, Patrick, about the demo – let’s talk music, shall we?”

 

They record the whole thing within two days, and it shows. Neither of them have enough experience to make anything decent in that short amount of time. But the short amount of time also means the twins have very little opportunity to argue with Patrick about lyrics or music, and it means Patrick can’t bitch at Joe all the time for changing the guitar chords.

All in all, it’s not something great. Maybe not even something good. But Pete and Lewis are ecstatic, proud beyond belief. It’s yet another step on their ladder to fame, they’re sure of that, and if the world doesn’t want to hand it to them, fine. They’re going to claw it out of everyone’s hands if they have to, they’ll stop demanding and simply start to take what they want.

First step will be to get themselves out there. No one has really heard much of Fall Out Boy, but the twins are known, and they do their best to book a tour. Oh, one day, the world will come to _them_ , they’ll _beg_ to have Fall Out Boy play at their venues, and until then, the twins have no trouble pestering everyone they know. It’ll be during school break, because of course, that’s the compromise to make when half your band consists of teens.

The band gets some spots at shitty clubs and questionable show stages, and they’re getting paid in pizza and alcohol, but whatever. It’s not like any of them relies much on earning cash.  

That doesn’t hold true for any of the drummers who played for them so far. Mike won’t get time off work, and doesn’t exactly think it’s wild to drive around in a shitty old van anyway. He’s breaking away from the group, and the twins are getting fed up with filling in the spot with interchangeable shitty drummers from a scene they feel less and less connection to. Their new sound and message diverts a lot from the hardcore stuff that’s so popular in their circles. It’s time for something new, and it’s time for _someone_ new, so the twins visit an old friend.

 

Andy is alone at home, which is a very welcome change. He lets Pete and Lewis in with a small sigh, knowing full well what the mischievous grin on their lips means. They’re guided to the living room, where Andy takes a seat in a battered armchair, and the twins sit down on the sofa. It’s only the most natural thing that Pete slings his arm around Lewis, and pulls him half on his lap, close, always just a little closer.

“You’re here for the band again?” Andy starts. “I heard you have some trouble with the drummers.”

“That’s correct,” Pete says with a shrug. It’s not exactly a secret.

“I heard more things, actually.” There’s a frown on Andy’s face, and Pete can feel how Lewis tenses up a little. “Like the story about that guy you beat up recently. Care to explain that? Weren’t you done with this bullshit? Why do none of the drummers want to stay, hm? Doesn’t exactly make the position look desirable.”

It’s a hard blow to hear those words, especially for two twins known to have short tempers and a huge yet vulnerable ego. It’s not their fault they’ve had such bad luck with the drummers. It’s not their fault people give them weird looks and assume the worst, the twins never had any ill intentions.

“We’re still at the start,” Pete finally says. He can feel that Lewis is still angry, so Pete tries his best to do the talking for now. “C’mon, Andy, you know how people are. Everyone is in five different bands at once, and lineups change every week. And look, _everyone else_ stayed so far. That’s more than most bands can say.”

“Why do you want me to be your drummer?” Andy inquires with curiosity. “You said this was a fun project, right? Pop punk, softer tunes, apolitical lyrics? Why do you want _me_ of all people?”

It’s Lewis who answers this time. “We’re sick of the scene, Andy. It’s getting worse and worse. We know it, you know it – it’s getting less and less about music and messages, and more about mosh pits, violence, and any excuse to be needlessly brutal.” Lewis pauses for a moment, sends Andy a pensive gaze while he waits for an objection. Andy’s mouth is drawn into a tight line, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s a good sign already. Lewis relaxes a little, and continues: “That fight you mentioned – the guy came up to _Patrick_ , and harassed him just to start some trouble. I mean, Patrick is _seventeen_ , Andy, and he sure looks like he is. That asshole picked on him because he thought Patrick was an easy target, and he was willing to beat the kid into the ground over nothing. It’s not the first and definitely not the last time this happened recently, is it?”

There’s still no answer from Andy, and Pete interjects: “You wanna know what that douchebag called us, Andy? How no one in the audience gave a fuck that he kept hurling _faggot_ every two seconds? Yeah, is that the scene you wanna stay part of? Because we won’t.”

A long-drawn silence follows these questions. The twins are telling the truth here, and it’s no lie, Pete and Lewis are sick of the scene for many reasons. They’re just holding back the parts of unpleasant rumors still surrounding them, whispered vile stories about their teen mistakes following them to this day. A new beginning will put an end to that.

Pete motions Lewis to move a little, so that he can retrieve a CD from his pockets. Technically, Pete is sure he isn’t supposed to have this, and he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t just hand it out like that to Andy, but Andy is trustworthy, and the twins don’t care too much.

“Listen to it,” Pete says as he hands Andy the CD, all their songs trapped in silver, wrapped up in hopes and dreams. “There’s the proof you wanted that we can do something.”

“We’re gonna go on tour,” Lewis adds with pride. “Play the songs, and get ourselves out there. Won’t be something great, but we got the van and we have a plan, Andy. Don’t you miss the road? It’s just two weeks, try it out. Think about it.”

Finally, Lewis stands up, and so does Pete. They’re done here, the rest of it is up to Andy, who carefully inspects the disk, and weighs his options. Is he on their side, or does he join the rest of the world who’s against the twins, doesn’t want to accept them, think Pete and Lewis are wrong? Pete feels the corner of his mouth twitch, but not for a smile. It’s all or nothing, because if Andy is out, the twins won’t come crawling back to him.

“I’ll listen to it, and let you know, okay?” Andy says softly. It’s not a yes, _still_ not a yes, how much more does he fucking need? But the twins accept. They’ll be generous as long as Andy hasn’t said no.

And it’s not long after that when the band finds itself in the studio again, short of a drummer, and being recommended to try asking Hurley if he’s in. Third time's the charm, and the twins love amusing coincidences. It’s the perfect sign from the universe, and they’ve given Andy everything they have. How can he refuse?

 

Andy can’t, so he doesn’t.

 

Instead, he shows up in the shitty recording studio, despite having just recorded with his other band. Patrick and Joe are a little awestruck, so much that neither of them scolds the twins for their shit-eating grins and smug righteousness when Andy introduces himself (needlessly, as everyone knows him already), and sits down behind the drum kit. He’s the most professional and experienced of them all, and it shows in the vibe he gives off. Joe stops fiddling with his guitar, Patrick stops bitching, and even the twins just pick up their instruments again. The sound engineer from the label seems to be the most relieved, now that someone sensible arrived at the scene.

It's an entirely different feeling now that Andy is with them. Something just clicks, and it doesn’t matter that Andy never really practiced the songs with them before, it doesn’t matter that it’s still kinda shitty and amateurish and it doesn’t matter that Andy refused the twins before.

Because they know Andy is staying. It’s all or nothing and Andy chose everything, chose the band, chose Pete and Lewis, and they will never let him go again. Not that it is needed; when they’re done, everybody knows that Andy will be back. The twins see him talk to Joe and Patrick, before Andy comes over to them. There’s a short nod, followed by Andy’s soft-spoken words. “Let me know when you’re coming to pick me up for touring.”

“Will do,” Pete says with the biggest smile ever. “We can’t wait,” Lewis adds, the same grin on his face. The twins catch Patrick staring at them, and they send him a wink while Pete mouths _told you so_ towards him. Patrick just flips them off, but victory is theirs.

 

Soon enough, the twins decide another victory must be theirs. Pete and Lewis are at Patrick’s with a convenient excuse – they charmed their way in by telling Patricia that they were here to help Patrick pack his stuff for the upcoming tour. It’s amazing, really, that he’s allowed to go in the first place, but with a little bit of work, well-placed words and excellent behavior in front of her, Pete and Lewis successfully convinced her to entrust her youngest son to two twins, a teen, and a stranger with a shitty van for two weeks.

There are still stern looks and the underlying promise that if anything happens to Patrick, the twins won’t be shown any mercy. It doesn’t worry them too much – really, Patricia and they are on the same side. Pete and Lewis would never let anything happen to Patrick, ever.

That’s not what the twins are thinking about right now though. Patrick’s room is a mess, and they’re doing their best to convince him what and how to pack. It’s only a little insulting when Patrick doesn’t trust them.

“You two are _chaos_ ,” is what Patrick says, “and just to be clear, I won’t be sharing my underwear with you when you run out. So please shut up and let me do this in peace, I got this.”

Eventually the twins just end up lazing around on Patrick’s bed, bored out of their minds while waiting for him to finish. He’s nervous, he’s insecure, and he’s kind of a perfectionist in his own weird ways, so no wonder that packing takes him forever. But the twins have a goal, a plan, and a travel-sized bottle of lube shoved into the pockets of Pete’s jeans, so they just wait for the right moment.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Patrick lets out an exasperated sigh and flops down on the bed right next to the twins. He’s probably half-expecting some shenanigans to happen already, but he doesn’t know he’s in for a treat today.

“I don’t think you’re done yet,” Pete says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “There’s something missing you might need,” Lewis adds while he sits up, shuffles between Pete’s legs and places his hand right over the pocket containing the item the twins deem missing.

“Oh, stop the bullshit.” Patrick doesn’t seem to understand, thinks the twins are just trying to annoy him. They very much aren’t. “I got everything I need, but if you’re so fucking smart, tell me what I’m missing.”

Lewis reaches into the pocket of his brother’s jeans, and pulls out the lube. He holds it up for Patrick to see, waiting for a reaction.

Patrick stares at them, a little dumbfounded. “You’re… Kidding me, right?” He says nervously.

“You know what this is for, right?” Pete inquires with a grin while he lets his hand wander under Lewis’ shirt.

Patrick’s face turns cherry-red, but he tries his best to hold up the confident act. “Of course I do, dumbass.”

“Well, we’re not sure you do,” Lewis says nonchalantly, hands already on the fly of Pete’s jeans, about to get rid of them. “So, we wanna make sure to show you.”

“Show me?” Patrick repeats, face even redder than before. “I don’t –“

“Just shut up and watch, idiot. You’ll see,” Pete interrupts him impatiently. Objections are the last thing on the twin’s minds, and they could really do without any annoying concerns.

 

In no time, the twins have discarded their clothes – they know they look pretty, and they want Patrick to enjoy the view. The last bit of daylight casts a soft light over them, and Lewis can’t help but admire his twin a little bit before he drags Pete into a kiss.

Patrick has retreated to his chair, knees drawn to his chest, eyes widened. It would be nice to have him in the same bed, but there really isn’t enough space. Patrick’s mom must have had the same brilliant thought as the twins’ mother –  that if she bought a single bed, it will prevent the girls from staying over, and prevent anything bad from happening.

It really doesn’t, though, as proven by the two naked bodies in Patrick’s bed. There’s more kissing, soft and slow at first, rougher and hasty the more aroused they get. Hands trace over the all-too familiar parts of a well-known body, find their way onto each other’s cock.

After a while, Lewis puts his hand on Pete’s chest, motioning him to lay down.

They settle on simple missionary, because it’s the easiest, and failproof. The twins won’t take any risks now, there will be enough opportunities to try something more advanced, show off even more. But for now, this will do.

“Watch, Patrick,” Pete groans while Lewis slicks up his fingers, “now _this_ is the important part.”

Patrick doesn’t need to be told to watch, it’s not like he has ever looked away. His eyes are fixed on the twins, who are reveling in the attention. Lewis bites his lip, and Pete arches his back, moans when he feels the fingers of his brother between his legs, and moans even louder when the first one slowly enters him. There’s a second one soon after, worked in an out of him in a slower pace than usual, probably to make sure their audience enjoys this part a little longer.

“Ah, so good,” Pete chirps, mostly for Patrick’s benefit; Lewis knows that it feels good already, knows how to work Pete’s body, _their_ body. “You know how good this feels, don’t you? Well, ah – fuck, it feels fucking fantastic for me, too…”

There’s no answer, but it’s not like the twins need one. They know Patrick knows what their fingers feel like, they made sure that he has enjoyed them more than once.

The twins exchange more kisses, casting sideway glances to Patrick once in a while just to make sure he’s still looking. A frustrated groan escapes Lewis’ mouth after a while; he’s not very patient, and he’s been anticipating this moment ever since Pete pocketed the lube earlier this morning, and he’s wanted this since what feels like forever.

“Pete, I wanna – just let me….” Lewis withdraws his fingers, and reaches for the lube again.

Pete ponders his options, but decides to just let Lewis fuck him now. Like his brother, he’s impatient and aching with the want to be one, to have Lewis possess him in every way, to let Patrick in on their secret they’ve been afraid to share for so long. He watches as Lewis spreads more lube over his cock, sends Patrick a smirk and a wink, and then turns his head towards his twin again.

It’s only been two fingers, but there’s tons of lube – a generous amount, more than the twins would normally use – and unlike his brother, Pete likes the stretch, likes to be just on the edge of pain, loves to explore and push his boundaries always just a little further. Both twins live for the extreme, but when it comes to sex, Pete’s usually just a little bit more ruthless.

Plus, Patrick’s still a virgin, so Pete feels like maybe, this way, they can empathize a little more with him. He’s tight around Lewis’ cock, breathes shallowly as Lewis pushes in further. Pete can’t help but groan, and he squirms a little as he attempts to find a comfortable position. Lewis bows down until their foreheads touch, plants a gentle kiss on Pete’s lips, soothingly runs his hand over Pete’s skin. For a moment, only the two of them exist for each other, it’s just Pete and Lewis, just them, and no one else matters.

But it doesn’t take long until Pete has adjusted to the well-known feeling of a familiar cock inside of him, and the twins remember their audience. It’s a little weird, it’s been a while since someone was with them, since someone saw them being this intimate with each other. Lewis sits up a little so that Patrick can get a better view, and both twins turn their heads towards him.

 

“Like what you see?” Lewis asks, always hungry for approval. “Is it what you imagined, Patrick? Ah, I wonder which one of us you wanted to be – me, or Pete? Or both?”

Pete lets out a short laugh, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he urges his brother to move; he’d prefer talking this through later, after fucking. Oh, Patrick is going to give them all the appreciation they deserve, he’s sure of that, but for now, Pete wants to focus on the task on hand – show Patrick what more there could be.

“C’mere, Patrick,” Lewis says sweetly, “there’s something for you to do, too.”

Patrick hesitates, fueling Lewis’ impatience. He’s still balls-deep into Pete, and he’s very much not interested in having some stupid misconceptions ruin this moment, their moment. Maybe being a little more active might help Patrick.

“I’m not joking around,” Lewis states, “come over here to us. What, are you too much of a coward?”

It’s a cheap tactic, but it works. Patrick stands up, inches closer. “Sit down on the bed,” Lewis commands, “no, not there – here. Yes, good.”

Pete sends Lewis a questioning look. “So, can we maybe get on with this now?” He knows his twin is up to something, he’s just not sure what Lewis has planned exactly.

“We can. And what’s gonna happen is that I’ll fuck you,” Lewis says, and Pete nods, because yeah, that is very much what he wants right now. “But,” Lewis grabs his brother’s wrists, pins them down next to Pete’s face, “but, you’re not gonna come unless sweet little Patrick here decides to lend you a hand.”

“What?” Patrick asks confused as he shifts on the mattress. His face his even redder than before, which is remarkable considering the impressive boner pressing against his pants.

“Touch his dick, dummy,” Lewis orders, “c’mon, it’s not the first time you touched it, and Pete could really use some help here. Isn’t that right?” He asks, sends his brother a smirk.

The grip on Pete’s wrists isn’t very tight, and if Pete wanted, he could easily free himself, the twins both know that. But Pete doesn’t consider getting himself free. He’s caught up to his twin’s plan, and damn if he isn’t going along with it. Suddenly, the need for Patrick’s hand on his cock is overwhelming, and it’s nice to include him a little bit into this. He belongs to them, _with_ them, after all. It’s only fair to let him participate and grant him his fair share of both work and fun.

Lewis starts to move again. Slower than usual, with more concern for his audience then for getting them off as fast as possible.

For a second, Patrick just looks overwhelmed with everything. That is, until Pete interrupts whatever foolish thoughts he must have with a load moan.

“So fucking good,” he groans, mostly for Patrick’s benefits. Lewis knows how to fuck him already, he doesn’t need constant reassurance.

They stick to the basics for now. There’s no need to show Patrick something he doesn’t even know, can’t realize what exactly he’s missing out on yet. That will be much more fun once Patrick has enough experience to comprehend that.

Lewis tightens his grip around Pete’s wrists. “Fuck, Patrick,” he hears his twin say, “please, c’mon, help me out a little…!”

“He wants you,” Lewis says through gritted teeth. “He needs you. _We_ need you, Patrick.”

“Goddamn it, I’m so fucking close–!” Pete thrashes his head, tries his best to hold back. It would be kinda pathetic to just come like that, untouched, like _he’s_ the teen virgin. And it would be very disappointing to take away Patrick’s opportunity for participation.

Teeth meet soft skin as Lewis bows down, gives a bite to Pete’s neck. A warning; he can feel that Pete is close, and Patrick still hasn’t touched him. That’s not how it’s supposed to go.

“Patrick,” Pete manages to bring out, “don’t just fucking sit there – ah, _do_ something!”

Finally, _finally_ , Patrick’s hand inches closer, finds its way between the twins’ limbs and almost onto Pete’s cock. “Can I really -?” Patrick stutters, only to be interrupted by Pete.

“Just touch me already, dumbass, you can’t make me wait like this!”

“Yeah, touch him, Patrick,” Lewis hisses; he can feel his own orgasm coiling in his stomach, he can feel Patrick’s knuckles brushing against his stomach, can feel Pete tight and desperate around his cock. It’s too fucking good, and Lewis’ patience is dwindling.

There’s one last moment of hesitation; then, Patrick’s fingers are wrapped around Pete’s dick, who can’t help but moan in relief. It’s a bit clumsy and awkward given that Patrick has to maneuver with the other two bodies. But it doesn’t take long until Lewis has adjusted his position for better access, and of course, it takes Patrick no time to work out a rhythm.

Another groan escapes Pete’s mouth; coherent words are far from his mind now that there’s Patrick’s hand on his dick, and Lewis’ cock slamming against his prostate with each thrust. He distantly registers his twin saying something – probably encouraging words to Patrick – feels the grip around his wrists tighten, hears something that could be Patrick moaning.

The world goes black as Pete squeezes his eyes shut, everything else drowns out in the fire running through his veins as he finally comes. He would try to pull Lewis closer, but he doesn’t have the strength left to pull himself out of his brother’s grip. Also, there’s still Patrick’s arm in between them, an unfamiliar presence they’ve yet to find all the ways to include. Instead, Pete arches his back, pointless syllables falling from his lips as Patrick strokes him through his orgasm.

Lewis comes a few moments later with groan a similar to Pete’s. For a few blissful moments, he just relishes in the afterglow, presses wet kisses to Pete’s skin; he lets go of his brother’s arms, and Pete drags him closer, hands clutching into the inked skin on his back. They’d love to kiss Patrick, too, but Patrick has already pulled away.

 

Patrick stares at his hand, before he picks up an old shirt from the floor, carefully wipes away the stains from his skin.

“Give me that,” Lewis demands, and the shirt is thrown in his direction. He cleans Pete up as best as he can, before he hands the shirt back.

Patrick frowns as he inspects the dirty thing. “Gross,” he mumbles, before tossing it into the corner. “Gross, guys. Was that necessary?! I can never wear this again.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Pete can’t help but roll his eyes. “We’ll buy you a thousand new ones when we’re rich and famous.”

Patrick is still hard, and the twins exchange a meaningful glance. Pete sits up, and together, they drag Patrick down to the bed. He looks slightly confused, anxious, and excited all at once.

“Did you like that?” Pete asks sweetly. “Was it like you imagined it?”

“I didn’t –“ Patrick stutters, and his face turns red from embarrassment. “I never – Pete, I… This isn’t fucking _normal_!”

“Don’t lie to us,” Lewis says through gritted teeth. “You’ve thought about this, admit it!”

“You want this, right? You want _us_ , right?” Pete positions himself between Patrick’s legs, presses his knee against the erection still trapped in his jeans. “And we want you, too. How’s that wrong?”

“I don’t know!” Patrick is panting, and his concentration seems to dwindle the more Pete rubs over his crotch. “Just – just…!”

“Just accept us, Patrick,” Lewis whispers as he sits behind his twin, slings his arms around Pete’s waist, motions him to lay down next to Patrick so that they can all be closer. The goddamn single bed is too small, and Lewis swears that one day, they’ll finally get a bed that can easily fit three people.

For now, all they can manage is lay down next to each other, on the side, pressed close. Lewis is pressed flush against Patrick’s back, holds him tight in the vain hope this might somehow convey their message better than words. Pete has his legs over Patrick’s thighs, and his hand between them.

“You can have us,” Pete hums, voice low and loaded with promises. “You can have us, Patrick… Don’t you want us?”

“No, no, I want you!” Patrick hurries to say, gasps when Pete’s hands undo his zipper, then slide into his pants. “But isn’t that…. I mean, I shouldn’t, right –? Oh, fuck, Pete…!”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Lewis inquires while he tugs at Patrick’s earlobe. “Screw what other people think. They don’t matter. _We_ are the only ones that matter.”

“If it makes you happy, how can it be wrong?” Pete says with a grin while he strokes over Patrick’s cock. “And we’re your friends, right? We would never hurt you. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” Patrick moans, “yes, yes, of course…!”

“Good,” Lewis whispers into his ear as his hand joins his brother’s. “Because we only want to make you happy. Because we love you. Patrick. You deserve to have everything.”

Patrick doesn’t answer, but there’s another moan, another whine as he tries to grind closer to the two hands on his dick. It would be fun to play a little more with him, but that’s for another time.

It doesn’t take long until Patrick falls apart under their hands with a hoarse cry. Finally, the twins feel one step closer to their goal, one step closer to _Patrick_. He has quite a bit to think about now, but the twins are sure their message came through when Patrick kisses them back softly, when the doubts in his eyes have been replaced by a dreamy expression when Pete whispers into his ear: “Two weeks… Just us and the band, on the road to make the world ours, too.”

There’s two weeks away from home awaiting them, two weeks full of potential for stolen kisses and intimacy away from parents’ watchful eyes and the awkwardness of their own homes. Two weeks in which Patrick just belongs to them, and them alone.  

Patrick watches them getting dressed in silence, fiddles around with the bottle of lube before shoving it into his duffle bag. That doesn’t go unnoticed by Pete and Lewis, who reward this with another row of sweet kisses.

“Just us,” Lewis repeats, before they finally pull away from Patrick.

Patrick looks like he wants to say something, like his post-orgasm haze has faded enough for critical thinking, but Pete doesn’t give him a chance to speak up.

“We’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. You better be ready, Trickster.”

And with that, the twins are out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we will also get more plot! One day, my friends. Until then you can enjoy the porn and keep hoping that this mess turns out well. Well, they're all happy, right? Nothing can go wrong here, right?
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! :) It would mean a lot to me, even if it's just a line or incoherent yelling!


	7. Do Your Best And Don't Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins finally go all the way with Patrick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Finally, they'll fuck for real this time. It's going to be fine, isn't it?  
> (Well - there's some uncomfortable stuff in there so read at your own risk. Everything is consensual, but consens alone does not make a healthy sexual experience.)
> 
> Again with some complement art for your visual pleasure. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Snitches for beta reading, and for always being so encouraging!

 

 

 

 

Patrick is on top of the world.

 

That’s how it feels, well, almost. Maybe he’s not there yet, not even close, but when they’re sitting in the beat-up van, just five boys and the anticipation running through their veins, on their way to the next venue to play _their_ songs, in front of a real audience, Patrick feels like he’s at least on his _way_ to the top.

Sure, they don’t have much to offer yet, and they rarely play for a larger crowd – if they play at all, and their show doesn’t get cancelled. Yeah, the van is shit, the heater that needs to be running constantly makes everything and everyone smell even worse (as if they get enough opportunities to shower to begin with), driving is a pain in the ass especially with people who are terrible at reading maps (which Patrick is certainly guilty of, too), and being crammed up with five people in limited space can bring out the very worst in all of them.

But it’s a beginning. It’s a promise of so much more to come, the dawn of opportunities and all the bright, colorful things the twins have promised Patrick.

And right now, Patrick is starting to really believe them.

It’s the middle of the night, and they’re between two anonymous cities, none of them close enough to give shelter. They often sleep at someone else’s apartment, at dorms on college campuses and on the floor of Andy or the twins’ seemingly endless amounts of friends and acquaintances. It saves them money they usually don’t have, but tonight there’s nothing but an endless road ahead, and it’s decided they’ll scrape together what little they made at their last show for a stay at a motel.

The guy working the front desk looks less than happy, and Patrick wonders what kind of impression they must give – two snotty teens, two twins with manic grins, and Andy, who somehow manages to look the most normal yet also the most threatening with his cold stare as he negotiates.

“We’ll take two double rooms,” Andy reiterates, points to the twins. “I don’t care if we’re five people. These two are tiny, they can fit in one bed.”

There’s a silent _fuck you_ from Pete, but Lewis just nods. It’s probably not the first time they’re made that argument.

The receptionist just sighs; it’s probably against the motel’s policy, but it’s easier to just give in than to argue. Patrick doubts he’s getting paid enough to deal with this bullshit. “I don’t give a damn if you guys think you’re some kind of wannabe rock stars,” the guy says instead, “you can have the rooms, but I swear, if you think you can wreck them, I’ll cut the tires of your shitty van and sell your instruments to make up for the damage.”

That’s probably illegal to say, and definitely not the best customer service, but they’ll have to take what they can get. Andy takes the two keys, shoves one into Patrick’s hands. “You can have the twins,” he orders, “maybe they’ll behave a little better around you.”

“Oh fuck you, Andy,” Pete pouts, “we’re great roommates. And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the shit we did together in Arma. I remember you having fun, too.”

“Just behave,” is all Andy says back as Patrick tries not to wonder what sort of gross things they all did. He’s heard some stories, wild adventures that might be exaggerated but still. He can’t help but feel a little jealous of their history; he wants some of that for himself, wants some memories to share with the twins as well. He takes the key with a shrug, tries to play it cool.

“You okay with that?” Joe asks, because he’s nice, and he’s always worried even though there’s nothing to worry about. Patrick is the same age, there’s no need to be all protective, and Patrick is _fine_ , he can handle himself.  

“Sure,” Patrick says with another shrug, oh, he’s more than okay with it.

“I better not find the tires slashed,” Andy says when they stand in front of their rooms.

“We get it,” Lewis scowls; Andy shakes his head, then closes the door behind him and Joe.

 

There’s a big bed in the middle of the room that Patrick kinda wants to sink into. He misses having his own bed, having a room and some privacy, misses real food, and he really misses his mom. It’s the least cool thing ever, the exact opposite of rock and roll, so Patrick hides those feelings away, opts for a shower instead.

Eventually, it ends up like Patrick had anticipated it the second they all entered the room. He’s in his socks and boxers, but the twins are naked and eager, with promise in their eyes, and a hint of madness in their smiles. They’re supposed to take pills, Patrick remembers distinctly, but he can’t recall a single time he’s seen either of them actually taking any meds. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, they look beautiful, they love him, and _so what_ if the sparks of desire lighting their eerily identical faces is just the slightest bit off.

Patrick wants, he wants so badly, wants them and everything they stand for – love and lust and all his dreams wrapped up in two twins. He wants their pretty words, he wants the filth whispered into his ear as they drag off his boxers, he wants the compliments and everything else their mouths have to offer. He wants, and they want it too, so that must make it okay.

Patrick is young and half in love, and he hasn’t realized yet that consent alone isn’t enough. That there’s more to consider. He doesn’t realize that the twins have been building up to this moment slowly. That every little touch, every hushed kiss and every hug that lasted just a little too long has worn him down. That with every lick, kiss, stroke, his resistance has dwindled, and now, he’s sitting here, naked, in front of his two best friends, and the thought of how fucking wrong this may be has escaped his mind long ago. Somewhere between Pete’s sweet words and touches, between Lewis’ demanding kisses, between the twin’s hands and lips on and in him… All of this just became normal.

Pete and Lewis aren’t wrong, they’re never wrong, and if Patrick can tell himself that, it means that by extension, _he_ isn’t wrong either.

No way Patrick can spread his legs enough to make room for two people, so Lewis sits next to them, puts his hand on the pale, shaking thigh separating him from his brother.

Words aren’t necessary. Pete and Lewis don’t need to talk, and they’re older and experienced and they know what they’re doing, so Patrick snaps his mouth shut and waits.

Pete drizzles a generous amount of the lube from Patrick’s bag over his fingers, then puts his hand between Patrick’s legs. Patrick winces a little, because it’s cold, and it’s so weird to have that much lube smeared between his legs. It’s wet and slick and it feels kind of gross.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, Pete pushes his first finger in. There’s less friction than when he just uses spit, and Patrick has learned to relax, learned to resist of the urge to tense up and fight the foreign presence in his body.

“More,” Patrick hisses, because he’s hard and aching, because he’s seventeen and impatient, and because he’s afraid he’ll chicken out if the fog of arousal clears.

A second lubed-up finger gets slipped into him, and Patrick has to admit, it’s nicer than just spit. There’s no burn, no underlying dawn of soreness. It’s still kind of a strange feeling, being so wet and opened up, and Patrick can’t help but wince when Pete reaches for the lube again.

“What’s with all the lube?” Patrick says through gritted teeth. “It’s a _mess,_ and I feel gross.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Patrick,” Pete replies annoyed. “You’re gonna be thanking us, believe me. You’re gonna want all the lube you can get, trust us.”

“Trust us,” Lewis repeats, “and trust _Pete_ – he’s the one who wouldn’t stop crying the first time I tried to fuck him without lube.”

“It fucking hurt, dipshit.” Pete flips him off with the hand not buried in Patrick’s ass.

Lewis scowls. “I know, Pete. You did the same thing with me, too. And you weren’t the only one who tried to convince me it’s a great idea.”

There’s a moment of heavy-hearted silence, in which Patrick tries not to think about the twins’ unfortunate experiences with each other, and with other people. People who weren’t pleasant, worse, _people who weren’t me_. Jealousy settles in Patrick’s stomach, together with the proud thought that he will do much better. _He_ won’t disappoint Pete and Lewis.

The twins exchange a look, then, the smiles are back on their faces, sadness forgotten for now. Pete throws the lube over to Lewis. “Get to work,” he orders his brother, “don’t let me deflower Patrick all alone here.”

“Deflower?” Patrick hisses, but further protests come to a halt when Pete curls his fingers, feathers over his prostate and makes Patrick forget his objections.

“Now hold still, there’s gonna be one more finger.”

“Do I need a third finger?” Patrick asks, a little unsure, and a little impatient. “Pete didn’t need it.”

“Pete isn’t a virgin, idiot.” Lewis manages to work his hand between Patrick’s legs, and Patrick can feel a third finger teasing his rim.

“If you can’t handle that, you can’t handle a cock up your ass,” Pete adds, so Patrick shuts up and says nothing, because he very much wants to get laid, _now,_ preferably.

There’s two hands between Patrick’s legs but somehow, the twins make it work. Of course they do, and Patrick pushes the thought aside _why_. It’s hard to focus on that when there’s three fingers inside of him, a stretch unlike he’s felt before, burning even despite all the lube. It’s weird, but Patrick moans anyway.

“You good?” Lewis asks, and Patrick nods, mostly to convince himself. The twins withdraw their fingers, which makes Patrick squirm. It feels weird. Everything feels weird.

“Awesome,” Pete says with a grin, “so, Patrick, I’m gonna go first, okay?”

“Sure,” Patrick manages to answer in a voice that hopefully doesn’t sound too desperate and needy. He feels empty and aching and he just wants to get this done so badly.

“Hey, what about me?” Lewis nudges his brother’s shoulder.

“I’m the firstborn.” Pete reaches for the lube – gross, why does there have to be even more? – then adds: “Also, he watched me getting fucked last time, I think it’s only fair if _you_ get to do that now for a change.”

Lewis rolls his eyes, but doesn’t object. He pries the lube out of Pete’s hand instead, and pours some of it over his own hand. Patrick watches as Lewis slicks up his twin’s dick, tries not to wonder how often they’ve done this over the years, tries not to worry about how that image sends a jolt of arousal through his body. It’s okay, it’s _fine_ , and then Patrick’s thoughts come to a halt when he feels the blunt head of Pete’s cock pressing against taut muscles.

It kind of hurts, despite all the lube and prep. Pete’s dick isn’t even that big, the twins are pretty averagely sized, but it _feels_ big and hard and unforgiving. Patrick can’t help but gasp, can’t help but dig his nails into Pete’s hips until he hears him swear.

“You have to relax,” Pete hisses, and if Patrick could talk, _fuck you_ would be the nicest thing he’d have to say right now.

Thankfully, Lewis bows down to him for a soft kiss, gives him a reassuring smile and whispers: “You’re doing so good, Patrick… You should see yourself, you’re so fucking hot – I’m so jealous of Pete right now…”

Patrick scoffs weakly, but he’s glowing with pride on the inside. He hears Pete laugh a little, and then the tension seems to vanish as four hands find their way on his body, find every sensitive spot they have discovered over the past months, and before Patrick knows it, Pete is in all the way.

 

Wow. So that’s it. It’s somehow everything and nothing Patrick had expected. It’s no revelation, no heavenly choir, no bombastic explosion of love and pleasure. Just three sweaty guys, panting and concentrating on coordinating their bodies, a weird mix of lust, discomfort and excitement. But it’s Pete and Lewis and him, just _him_ ; he’s all that matters to the twins, and that sparks pride in Patrick’s chest, makes him forget about everything else.

Pete leans forward, rests his forehead against Patrick’s just like Lewis did with him last time; Pete’s panting, he smells like sex and sweat and arousal, all because of Patrick. Encouraged by that, Patrick goes for a kiss, feels a warm feeling spread in his stomach when Pete kisses back. He likes when the twins do what he wants.

Lewis’ hand is back on Patrick’s own dick, swiftly stroking him back into hardness. That helps, gives Patrick something to focus on other than the strange sensation of being so full. Pete starts to move, and his dick sliding out feels even weirder. It takes a few thrusts until Patrick loosens up, until the tension starts to drain. Lewis is still working his cock, giving him reassuring little kisses, and the way the twins stare at him – with lust and love and desire, with everything that no one else sees in Patrick – yes, Patrick can work with that.

“Good?” Pete enquires, lips brushing over Patrick’s temples, and Patrick nods, because there’s no other answer to give. With that, Pete sits up, and starts to go a little faster. Patrick squirms, body writhing against the sweat-damp sheets. It’s so much at once, and Pete’s dick just misses the right spot that his fingers found just a little earlier. Lewis’ hand feels great, but all that is not enough to let Patrick come. He’s on the edge, and it’s either going to be absolute bliss, or ending up just being soft and sore and overstimulated. Patrick would much rather take the orgasm, soon, _now_ , please.

Patrick hears Pete growl something; Lewis sits up, reaches for one of the pillows. He motions Patrick to arch his back, and he feels the pillow being shoved underneath his butt. Patrick makes a mental note to not sleep on that thing tonight. It helps though, makes everything a bit more bearable.

“Harder,” Patrick hears himself say, he has no idea if that’s a good idea but that’s what works in porn, that’s what worked for Pete last time, so it has to be the right thing. Pete grins, only further confirming this is indeed right. He puts his hands on the back of Patrick’s knees, pushes down until Patrick cries out. It feels as if Pete is somehow even deeper into him; it borders on painful, fuck, this isn’t as easy as the twins made it look. Every protest is drowned out by Lewis kissing him again, sliding his mouth over sweaty skin down to Patrick’s nipple. Everything is too hot, too intense, two twins are just too much –

That thought is interrupted when Pete finally finds the right angle, when his dick finally slams into Patrick’s prostate, almost sending him off the edge in an instant. Patrick throws his head back; all he can do is cry out again as Pete fucks harder into him, as Lewis’ hands keeps touching his cock and seemingly every other part of his body. Someone kisses him, Patrick has lost track which one of the twins’ mouth is where. There’s no way Patrick can hold back, and he falls apart under the twins’ touches, comes with a cry and a shudder.

The intensity leaves him numb for a moment. When the flow of time picks up again, he can see Pete towering over him, eyes squeezed shut, “Patrick, fuck, you feel so fucking good-!”

One more thrust, and then Pete comes as well. Patrick can feel it, Pete’s fingers kissing bruises into his hips and Pete’s cock spilling into him, and ew, that’s gross. Right, Patrick never thought about a condom, and the twins don’t look like _they_ ever wasted a second thought on that.

Every worry about condoms is lost when Pete pulls out, leaving Patrick feel strangely empty. Patrick is panting, still caught up in the afterglow when he’s being handled on all fours, when there’s a hard cock pressing against his hole – right, Lewis hasn’t come yet. Patrick is open and slick, so Lewis slides in with little resistance. It _hurts_ , Patrick might still be loose, but he feels sore, high-strung, it’s all just painfully too much and it doesn’t help that his own dick is soft and oversensitive as well, not providing distraction anymore.

All Patrick does is grit his teeth, and press his face into the pillows. Lewis might’ve forgotten that Patrick isn’t Pete, that he’s not used to taking dick like the twins are, but Patrick certainly doesn’t want to remind him. This is their first time and damnit, it will be flawless, he won’t be a little pussy and cry over a bit of soreness. Lewis has been attending his every need, has kissed and licked and touched him and how could Patrick deny repaying him? The twins deserve nothing but the best of him.

Lewis’ hands tighten their grip around Patrick’s hip, adding to the stains on pale skin that his brother left already. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long until he comes, groaning something that’s drowned out by the haziness of Patrick’s overwhelmed mind.

The slide-out feels as terrible as the first time. Once Lewis has pulled out, Patrick just slumps forward into the mattress. He’s exhausted, emotionally and physically, he’s tired and drained and there’s a dull, aching pain between his legs. He wants to laugh, cry, hide under the sheets, sleep for the next twelve hours and wake up with a clear mind again.

 

Of course, such plans won’t work when there’s two manic twins still with him. They motion him to turn around, there’s sweet kisses that Patrick is too weak to reciprocate and there’s warm words he’s too tired to make sense of.

“Fucking beautiful,” Pete whispers as his hand – his hand? Lewis’ hand? Patrick isn’t sure, but does it matter? – trails over Patrick’s stomach.

“A work of art. Wish we could look at you forever…” Lewis trails off, and then the twins exchange a meaningful look. There’s a silent conversation that Patrick doesn’t get, but when Pete glances back at him, dark eyes shining with whatever promise he and Lewis just made between each other, Patrick shudders a little. Fuck, he really hopes the twins are taking those meds.

Patrick looks away. There’s cum on his belly, there’s cum leaking out of him – disgusting, how the fuck do the twins deal with this? He wants a bath, or at least another shower, wants to crawl under the blanket and just sleep. The sheets are sweat-soaked and that pillow is full of lube and everything else. Slight regret befalls Patrick when he reminds himself of the missing condoms again, was that really so smart? And now that he has put out, given his everything, will the twins stop caring about him? Laying on this cheap motel bed with semen seeping out of him, sweaty and messy and imperfect all the way, he suddenly feels like nothing but a dumb kid.

A hand holds Patrick back when he sits up. “Believe me, you do not want to get up and walk right now,” Pete says with a laugh, getting up instead. It’s demeaning, but the sore feeling between his legs tells him that Pete has a point here. “Just relax,” Lewis purrs into his ear, drags Patrick down again, head resting on Lewis’ lap. Lewis cards his fingers through Patrick’s sweaty hair, and he has to admit, that feels rather nice.

“If you use my shirt to clean us up again, I’ll kill you,” Patrick blurts out, voice pitifully hoarse. “It’s disgusting, and also, I need it.” He doesn’t have many clean shirts left – well, actually, none of his clothes are clean per se, they can only be categorized as _too fucking dirty_ and _just dirty enough to still be wearable_.

Lewis laughs upon these words, and sticks his tongue out at Pete. “You heard him,” he says in a playful voice, and even though Pete sticks his tongue back at him, he stumbles into the bathroom and comes back with a wet towel. Patrick smiles a little to himself. The twins can be obnoxious, but they listen to him.

Once they are as clean as a tiny, rough motel towel can do for three people, Patrick feels a little better. The touchiness of the twins, which usually bothers him, now just feels reassuring and affectionate, whispered little reminders that they love him, _me, Patrick_ , and that’s what matters, isn’t it? When they lay down next to him, nothing of the unsettling sparkle that had been in their eyes is left. They just look pretty, a beautiful shade of amber, full of adoration.

“You’re the very best,” Pete says into the silence of the room. A warm hand slides up Patrick’s chest – Pete? Lewis? Again, does it matter? – fingers splayed over his ribcage. “We love you so much, Patrick.”

“We love you so much,” Lewis repeats in a hushed whisper, “more than anyone else in this world.”

Patrick knows they’re speaking the truth. The twins mean every word they say, they’re raw and vulnerable now in the gloomy motel room, under thin sheets, after they’ve given their everything to him with the promise that they’ll do so tomorrow, the day after, forever. Love, lust, friendship, the road to fame – everything Patrick could ask for. It makes his heart beat faster, it makes him feel triumphant – these two pretty twins have chosen _him_.

“I love you too,” Patrick says with a smile, because he does. The _you_ includes everything, Pete and Lewis and the shadow of a glorious future that comes with them.

Exhausted, Patrick finally falls asleep, squeezed in between the twins, feeling safe.

 

Next day feels less glorious. The soreness hasn’t stopped, and sitting in a van for hours sure doesn’t help. Andy and Pete are in the front seats, with Pete driving. That leaves Patrick with a bored Lewis and a tired-looking Joe to keep his grumpiness company. Lewis is a little too active, his smile is a little too wide, and he’s annoying as hell. Patrick wonders if either of the twins have slept last night; the meds, don’t they have sleeping pills? Are they supposed to take those? Patrick pushes such uncomfortable thoughts out of his mind, and pushes a giddy Lewis off of him.

“Can you fuck off?” Patrick says though gritted teeth. Everything between his legs hurts, his muscles ache, he hasn’t slept well trapped between two bodies. He could do without the constant pushing and squeezing.

Lewis pouts like a scolded child, except he’s twenty-two, way too old to pull this trick.

“Be nice, Patty,” he hears Pete say from the front of the van, because of course, he manages to be obnoxious even when not in close proximity to his brother. Patrick wants to yell a fuck you, but thankfully, Andy nudges Pete’s shoulder. “Keep your attention on the road. I’m not dying because of you, Wentz,” he hears Andy say, with enough authority to actually make Pete turn his head around again.

Joe, half-asleep, takes his headphones out. “What’s going on?” He asks, automatically looking at Lewis because, well, it’s usually one of the twins who causes trouble.

“Patrick is mean to me,” Lewis says with a sigh. “And I think I’m getting carsick.”

“Gross,” Patrick mumbles, and pushes Lewis further away. He has learned that the twins can throw up for a lot of reasons – being overly anxious before a show, drinking too much alcohol that doesn’t mix well with whatever else they’re consuming, and sadly, they get carsick a lot. Which is quite the disadvantage given how much time they spend in a van. He’s not getting vomit all over the last pair of jeans that doesn’t smell like death.

“Fuck you,” Lewis hisses at him. “It’s not my fault, asshole.”

“Please don’t throw up,” Joe says in a weak voice; he rubs Lewis’ back, a pretty helpless gesture. Still, it sends a spark of pure jealousy through Patrick, especially when Lewis closes his eyes, leans into the touch.

“You’re a good one, Trohman,” he purrs, and places his head in Joe’s lap. Joe sighs, because he knows this means he’s trapped for the next hour at least, but he’s a good guy, always wanting to keep the peace, so he doesn’t say anything. Andy glances back, seems to be pleased that everyone has gone quiet, and turns his full attention back to the map on his lap.

Patrick shifts, curls up on his side which helps with the soreness, but he suddenly feels miserable.

 

During the next stop at a gas station, Joe hesitantly moves Lewis off of him. “Have to take a piss,” he says apologetically. “I’m getting a snack, you want something too?”

Patrick shakes his head, he has no money left. Lewis shakes his head too, most likely because he’s still sick.

“Get some fresh air, Lewis,” Andy shouts, halfway out the car already. “You better not throw up, the van smells awful enough.” He’s already gone by the time Lewis has mumbled a half-hearted curse. The tension in the air is undeniable, but Andy never gets involved in personal affairs of others.

Patrick sighs, sits up; the air outside smells faintly like gasoline and the absence of human life. Pete joins them, looking worried. He gives his brother a soft, brotherly kiss, in stark contrast to how he kissed him last night, mumbles soothing words into his ear.

“Don’t you have any pills for motion sickness?” Patrick mumbles, surprised when he sees Lewis flinch a little. What’s wrong with that? The twins both shake their heads, and Patrick sighs again.

When everyone is back and the van drives over the highway in a frustratingly slow tempo, Lewis is curled up against Patrick. Joe sends him a thankful look, and Patrick just shrugs; but his grip around Lewis tightens as possessiveness floods him. Joe might be his friend, and no doubt, Patrick loves Joe, but he doesn’t love him like he loves the twins. He’s not part of their little secret. Patrick has always been bad at sharing, and apparently, that extends to people, too. _Mine_ , Patrick’s hand curling into Lewis’ sweater, clutching black fabric, as his other hand – out of sight from Joe – runs over the warm skin underneath; _mine, mine, mine_.

Their next gig doesn’t get cancelled, and it’s not going great, but better than expected. This far from Chicago, the crowd is much less enchanted with them, much less forgiving, all too eager to boo them off the stage. Tonight, there’s no bottles thrown at them, and there are two or three faces in the crowd that seem actually excited about Fall Out Boy. It’s very little, but it’s a spark of magic, the glimpse into a promising future, Patrick is sure. They load up their van, and the twins hold actual cash in their hands, real money that people gave them in exchange for their music in questionable quality on a home-burned CD.

“Let’s drink to that,” Pete says with a grin, and back they are in the club again.

Patrick finds himself with a beer bottle – not like anyone gave a shit – and without company.

Joe is nowhere to be seen. Probably drunk, or he’s found someone willing to share their weed. Andy doesn’t drink, but he’s chatting up a girl. He’s probably going to be successful, he’s a drummer, shirtless body full of pretty tattoos, brain full of impressive-sounding philosophy and politics. Patrick sometimes forgets that Andy went to college. Andy’s weird, yes, but he knows how and whom to impress with that.

Patrick feels a little jealous, until the twins drag him off to the bathroom, press him against the wall; the outside world ceases to matter the moment the twins and Patrick are alone.

Lewis jerks him off while Pete watches, leaning against the door – it’s lock not functioning, as is always the case – to make sure no one comes in. It feels forbidden and illicit, and the rush of adrenaline makes everything feel even better. Patrick comes embarrassingly fast, spills over Lewis’s hand and his shirt, can’t even care about the stains.

Someone yells outside the stall, fists banging against the door. Thankfully, Pete manages to keep it closed, and aside from some obscenities being exchanged, nothing happens. That’s probably a sign to stop, but Patrick is young, eager, and still on the high from the orgasm, and the twins sure couldn’t care less.

With a smile, Lewis takes a step back, already undoing his pants. He looks a little surprised when Patrick drags him closer, turns him around, then presses him face-first against the wall. Until know, Patrick has been mostly passive, has let the twins handle everything; but he’s not a virgin anymore, and right here, with the last bit of adrenaline from a successful show running through his body, Patrick feels confidence spark in him. His unusual boldness earns him a chuckle from Pete, barely audible over the noise from outside, and Lewis, while surprised, makes no objection.

The lube is buried somewhere in Patrick’s bag, so he presses two fingers against Lewis’ lips. There are no words, but Lewis understands everything nonetheless. He opens his mouth, takes them in, curls his tongue around them; Patrick’s cock is still soft, but warmth pours into his belly, makes him push his fingers in further, before withdrawing his hand and sliding it between Lewis’s legs. Again, he’s met with no resistance, just eager acceptance. Lewis arches his back, spreads his legs a little wider, all dark temptation and a pretty body just aching to be touched by Patrick.

Patrick circles his fingers over the rim, but he’s impatient, sinks the first one into Lewis already. There’s a gasp from Lewis and a gasp from Pete, still leaning against the door, because there’s not much else he can do. Reckless or not, they can’t afford to have anyone walk in on this.  

Lewis moans as Patrick fingers him, clumsily and without much finesse. He’s inexperienced and the situation doesn’t leave much room for experimenting. But he knows how to jerk the twins off, knows that Lewis will get off anyway when he reaches Lewis’ cock, hears him moan again, feels him tighten around his fingers with each stroke. Patrick wants to fuck him so badly, wants to sink his cock into the tight heat of his body, their body, into both of them; wants to leave them sore and aching like they did to him, he wants _everything_ , damn it.

 

And he knows the twins will let him. They always do.

 

Not here, not now, but that doesn’t mean Patrick can’t fantasize about it, can’t seize the opportunity to take as much as he can already. Lewis cries out when he twists his hand, Patrick must’ve done something right.

Lewis pushes back against his fingers, moans again, pretty lips parted and eyes squeezed shut. He’s so beautiful, and Patrick can’t wait to make Pete’s face wear the same expression. His lips graze over sweaty skin; it’s tempting to bite down, to leave a mark like they did. With their fingerprints still on his hips, Patrick has to make sure his shirt doesn’t ride up. He wants to give that back, but it’s too obvious over the line of Lewis’ shirt collar, and the twins are too shirtless most of the time to not raise any suspicion.

Pete is still pressed against the door, but Patrick can see him from the corner of his eyes; just like his brother, Pete likes to watch. He has one hand shoved into his pants, jerking himself off while his eyes are fixed on his twin and Patrick. There’s probably something wrong with that, that the twins get off on this so much – Patrick blames it on their ego, their sheer narcissism, and besides, plenty of other people must be that way. The streak of voyeurism is not only running through the twins’ veins. Patrick can’t deny that the hunger in Pete’s eyes doesn’t give him a huge satisfaction. He also got off on watching the twins kiss, suck, and fuck each other. So maybe, whatever is wrong with the twins is wrong with him, too.

No, it’s not _wrong_ – just a little different…

His thoughts are interrupted when Lewis cries out, throws his head back as he clenches down around Patrick’s fingers, fuck, it’s incredible to _feel_ him come like this. Tight heat around his fingers, hot cum spilling over Patrick’s other hand, Lewis’ warm skin shuddering under his kisses; everything, Patrick wants all of this and more, so much more.

They’re all a mess of sweat and stickiness, but Patrick doesn’t care. He wipes away the worst of it with the cheap toilet paper, runs a hand through his hair before jamming his beanie over it again. That has to do.

“When we’re home,” Pete growls, “when we’re home, we’re gonna fuck for real. We’re gonna do everything you want, more than you can even imagine. Everything, Patrick; we love you so much…”

Someone bangs against the door again. Over the loud music, someone shouts: “Get out of there, you fucking faggots!”

The outside world catches up with them, there’s no escaping that today.

 

Shortly after, they all sit in the van again; Andy as the only sober person is driving, Joe is sleeping next to him, and Patrick is curled up between the twins. He has forgotten about all earlier fights, and with the twins so docile for once, no further bickering ensues.

Their sleep pattern is the only thing that Pete and Lewis aren’t in synch with. Right now, Lewis sleeps soundly, motion sickness thankfully forgotten for now, head resting on Patrick’s chest. Pete, still wide awake (should he be awake? Is that good? Has he taken any of his meds? Patrick can’t remember) hums tunelessly, presses a kiss to Patrick’s neck whenever no one is looking, wet and messy and with the thrill of a shared secret.

There isn’t much time left, and they’ll be home within the next few days, but that doesn’t matter. This is only the beginning. Patrick smiles to himself as he thinks about all the shows they’ll play in the future, all the songs yet to come, all the music yet to make, everything that lies ahead of them, with eager anticipation. Another soft kiss is planted on his neck, tongue trailing up, teeth tugging at his earlobe before Pete buries his head in the curve of his neck. Patrick smiles to himself. _Mine_.

Yes, Patrick is on top of the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on my tumblr [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com), come say hi!
> 
> Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave a comment, those are what keep me going! ;)


	8. We'll Let You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with more of the twins, and some art! 
> 
> Thanks to Snitches for being an awesome and encouragin beta reader as always!~

 

 

 

 

The tour has ended, and the twins are still buzzing with energy. It doesn’t matter that it was just two weeks, that most of their shows got cancelled and that what little they played hasn’t gotten them immediate fame. The twins aren’t patient, but they’re willing to grit their teeth while they wait for the next step to make.

For now, that next step doesn’t involve the band – the next step is Patrick.

The twins haven’t forgotten their promise, how could they? That’s why Patrick is in their room right now, already half-naked, with hunger in his eyes. The house is empty, the door is locked, and there’s no one but them on Patrick’s mind.

Undressed already, the twins sit on the bed, watch as Patrick grabs the lube from his bag – clever boy that he is, he has learned fast. They can picture him, head bowed down, face flushed, as he buys a new bottle of lube with _them_ on his mind, Pete and Lewis, _us_ ; Pete grins.

It’s not going to be the last one, a thought that makes Lewis mirror his brother’s smile.

“I got condoms, too,” Patrick says with uncertainty in his voice. “I don’t know if…?”

Pete waves his hand. “Forget that. We don’t need those.”

“A little too late,” Lewis observes, brows raised as he shakes his head. “What, suddenly worried the faggots you’re fucking have HIV?” There’s a strain in his voice, because Lewis knows what some people talk about them. Being promiscuous always comes with all kinds of rumors, and even though the twins don’t really sleep around anymore, that doesn’t mean the gossip has stopped.

“No,” Patrick stutters, intimidated by the sharp undertone and the sharp glare from the twins. “No, that’s not it! It’s just… This whole thing is kinda, y’know. Gross.”

“Don’t be such a fucking baby about it.” Pete sighs in anger, holds back only because Lewis’ warning hand on his thigh reminds him to not ruin the moment.

Patrick furrows his brows, then walks over to join them on the bed – no condoms in his hand, yes, he can be a good boy when he isn’t such a brat. “I’m not a _baby_ , asshole,” Patrick says in a low voice, then drags Pete in for a kiss. He’s gotten a bit braver, and when his pride is challenged, Patrick usually forgets his shyness anyway.   

Heated kisses, warm flesh, two pair of hands dragging off Patrick’s underwear. Patrick kisses back fervently; oh, he’s always so eager for everything the twins want to give him, which pleases Pete and Lewis immensely.

“Who…” Patrick clears his throat. “So, uhm. Who’s gonna be first…?”

“Does it matter?” Pete asks. “We’re both the same, y’know.”

Patrick shrugs, still unsure. “But you guys argued about it last time.”

“Take Pete.” Lewis slings his arm around his brother, licks a stripe over his throat while Pete groans in irritation. “He’s the firstborn,” Lewis continues with a smirk, “He fucked you first. Go, return the favor.”

Another wet kiss to his brother’s neck, followed by a low moan from Pete. Lewis keeps his eyes fixed on Patrick, waits for him to decide. It doesn’t matter, really, if Patrick wants Lewis first, so what. It doesn’t make a difference.

But Patrick nods, determined.

Lewis can’t resist stealing another kiss from Pete – it’s just weird, having to share him like that again, it’s been a long time – before he withdraws with a smirk. “Have fun getting fucked by a virgin, Pete.”

“Fuck you, Lewis. I’m not a virgin,” Patrick hisses, although he doesn’t object when Lewis sits back, pulls Pete down so that his head rests on Lewis’ lap. “Remember when you and Pete put your cock in my ass? Pretty sure that _deflowered_ me for good, as your dear brother put it.”

“Semantics,” Lewis argues while he runs a hand through Pete’s hair. “You didn’t stick _your_ dick in anyone yet. And when you do… Believe me, you’ll come within two minutes tops. I’m not going through all that trouble for that.”

“Can you two shut up?” Pete interrupts irritated. “We’re three people. One of you is gonna make me come. End of discussion.”

“I hate you both,” Patrick mutters under his breath, but when Pete spreads his legs, he takes the invitation and kneels between them.

“You don’t hate us,” Pete coos, voice warm and enticing. The atmosphere starts to shift; Lewis catches that. His hand trails down, he splays his fingers over Pete’s collarbone, over tan skin and the tattoo that is on both their bodies, varied just slightly enough to be noticeable at second glance. Patrick knows it perfectly.

“You love us,” Lewis purrs, “you love us, don’t you? Show us, Patrick.”  

The childish frown on Patrick’s face dissolves into a small smile, pretty lips curling upwards as he bows down to kiss Pete. He’s gotten so good at that, the twins taught him well on how to use his mouth. Pete would like to have more of that, puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder to motion him further down. A trail of kisses, Patrick’s hand around his cock, stroking him just the way he likes it; Pete moans a little, thrusts his hips upwards, searching. Thankfully, Patrick gets it, lets his pink tongue lick a stripe over the head of Pete’s dick as he stares up.

“Suck it,” Pete groans impatiently, “suck it real good so Lewis knows he’s an idiot for passing up on this.”

“Fuck you,” Lewis mumbles as he leans forward a little, pinches Pete’s nipple with just enough pressure to let it boarder on delicious pain. He’s not being serious, because as much as the twins don’t like to share, there’s no need to be jealous of each other. Lewis is happy when Pete is happy. Besides, there will be plenty of opportunities to get a blowjob and everything else from Patrick.

Ignoring the twins’ bickering, Patrick opens his mouth, and starts to take Pete in. Pretty lips stretched around Pete’s cock, blue eyes peeking through blond lashes as Patrick looks up – a sight neither of the twins will ever get sick of.

 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Pete says with a grin, “’s fucking – fucking amazing as always…!”

That’s usually good enough to keep Patrick going. After a while, he pulls back, reaches for the lube. There’s a determined look on his face, and Pete’s grin widens. It’s nice to see Patrick has lost some of that annoying meekness in bed.

A slicked-up finger presses against tight muscles, then Patrick takes Pete’s dick back into his mouth. Pete squirms a little when Patrick pushes the first finger in, he’s going a little too fast, too rough, too clumsy. The blowjob helps to keep Pete’s attention focused on his arousal when a second finger slides into him, awkwardly starts to move. Patrick has not quite figured this out yet.

Some trial and error, but Patrick is a fast learner, and the twins have taught him well so far. He finds the right pace, and then, he finds Pete’s prostate, making him throw his head back with a loud groan.

“You’re missing out,” Pete pants, eyes on his brother, who just smiles back.

Patrick withdraws his head again. “Are two fingers enough?” He asks with uncertainty.  

“No.” Pete shakes his head, holds up three fingers. “One more. I’m not in the mood for something rougher. And also, your cock is bigger than Lewis’.”

That gets a proud grin out of Patrick, and a scoff out of Pete’s twin. “Not like yours is any bigger,” Lewis mutters, and Pete sticks his tongue out at him. It’s in jest; they’ve proven to each other countless times that their dicks are more than enough to satisfy each other’s needs.

A third finger enters Pete – fuck, it’s different then from Lewis’. Patrick isn’t as experienced, doesn’t quite know how to work with the twins’ bodies, hasn’t figured everything out yet. Oh, but he will, he will. Patrick’s mouth certainly knows what the twins like, Pete can’t help but moan when Patrick’s tongue swirls over his shaft, when his pretty lips meet his hand, and the way Patrick groans when Pete thrusts up a little –

“Enough,” Lewis orders firmly, which gets Patrick to stop. “Enough, or you’re gonna make him come.”

Pete mewls in disappointment when Patrick withdraws his mouth, it’s been so fucking good – fuck, Lewis was right, he could’ve come just from that. But right, that’s not what they’re here for.

Patrick sits up, reaches for the lube. He’s hard already, pink cock curving against his stomach. It looks tempting, and Pete kind of wants to push Patrick down, curl his fingers around it, suck him off. No doubt Lewis thinks the same, with the way he licks his lips, but the twins refrain from doing so. Plenty of time to suck Patrick’s dick in the future. Right now, he’s nervous enough already, and he won’t last long anyway, no need to make it any shorter.

The twins watch as Patrick slicks himself up, and two pairs of eyes watch him line up with Pete’s entrance. Pete can feel the head of his dick against it, then teenage insecurity takes over Patrick’s face again.

“You ready, Pete?” He asks softly, while he runs a hand over Pete’s thigh. It must cost him a lot of self-restraint to hold back right now. Anyone else probably would’ve appreciated that, but the twins are too impatient for that.

“Go, dumbass,” Pete says as he spreads his legs a little wider. “Fuck me.”

“Fuck him,” Lewis repeats hungrily, and at that, Patrick loses the worried look, trades it for a concentrated frown as he slides himself into Pete. He stills once he’s bottomed out, looks slightly overwhelmed and also like he’s about five seconds away from blowing his load.

“Fuck,” Patrick blurts out after a moment, “fuck, this is – so good…”

“It better be,” Pete sneers, then hauls him closer. “Move, dumbass.”

Patrick doesn’t protest, too preoccupied with holding back his orgasm, too overwhelmed with everything. He does as he is told, thrusts his hips awkwardly, can neither find the right pace nor the right angle. Pete’s dick doesn’t get any attention either, which is very annoying.

“This isn’t working,” Pete mutters, and pushes Patrick away from him. “We’re changing positions.”

Patrick is too far out of it to make objections. There’s nothing but pure want in his eyes as he sits up, squeezes at the base of his dick to keep himself from coming while he watches Pete turn around on all fours. Lewis’ eyes light up when they meet Pete’s, and he shifts his position too, glad he’s getting more out of this than just the thrill of watching.

“So, are we spitroasting you?” Patrick asks with glee. The word sounds awkward coming from Patrick, all bright blue eyes and blond hair, all young and still so clueless.

“You’re watching too much porn,” Pete scoffs slightly annoyed. “Now shut up and keep going.”

Being a horny teenager in the middle of sex, Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice. Pete feels him sliding back into him, hears him groan, feels his hands gripping his hips a little too tightly. Pete doesn’t say anything, supposes that Patrick isn’t really in the right headspace for friendly advice.

Lewis cups his brother’s chin, guides him to his own cock. Pete opens his mouth, takes him in while staring up to his twin. It’s fucking hot with Pete in the middle, watching him get fucked by Patrick while he’s sucking dick. It’s been a while since they played that dirty with someone else, and those people weren’t Patrick. Those people didn’t understand. This, _this_ is so much better.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long. Pete starts jerking himself off, hopes he’ll get to come first – it’s in vain. As soon as Pete starts working his own dick, tightening around Patrick’s dick even more, making guttural noises around Lewis’ dick in his mouth, Patrick’s stamina goes out the window. Pete hears him whimper a little, hears him swear, and then, Patrick comes, groaning in lust and a little frustration.

Patrick pulls out, breathing heavily; he curls up on the other side of the bed, caught up in his afterglow. He’s pretty useless right now, so Pete just keeps sucking his brother’s dick; once he’s done, they can all focus on him again.

Lewis comes a few minutes later, hauls Pete up for a kiss afterwards, with the offer of something more in his eyes. Pete shakes his head, turns to Patrick instead.

“’s your first time fucking a guy,” Pete whispers with a grin, “don’t you want that to end with both of us having had an orgasm?”

“Yeah, but…” Patrick looks down at his limp cock.

“Do something else then,” Pete says irritated. “Or I’ll just let Lewis do it.”

At that, Patrick sits up, determination back in his baby-blue eyes. He pushes Pete back into the mattress, and thankfully seems to remember he has a mouth. Said mouth takes in Pete’s dick, sucks him off with the same finesse as before and with two fingers tucked into Pete as well. It’s not as good as his dick, but Patrick’s mouth is doing a good job, and once Patrick’s fingers finally find Pete’s prostate again, it doesn’t take long for Pete to come as well. It’s white heat pouring into his groin, dick thrusting into a hot mouth, _Patrick’s_ mouth, sweet relief that Pete has been waiting for since forever.

Pete distantly notices him sitting up, and then, he’s wedged between his twin and Patrick. Blissful unity, perfect happiness.

That is, until Patrick starts talking.

“What are you guys now?” Patrick asks quietly. “My what, boyfriends? Lovers? What… What do I call you?”

“Why put a label on it?” Pete counters, lets out a yawn. He’s had a good fuck, and he doesn’t want to ruin the mood with this shit. “Society isn’t ready to accept us, you won’t find any appropriate words anyway. They won’t like it no matter what you call it.”

“Don’t bother,” Lewis says as well. “We love you. You love us. That’s what matters, right?”

They expect an immediate yes from Patrick. But there’s the shadow of a frown on his lips, brows furrowed slightly, there’s suddenly all these questions, why? Patrick hasn’t cared before, and the twins certainly don’t want to bother defining what society already doomed to be something _bad, perverted, disgusting_ , _incestuous, illegal_ , all the other awful words that got stuck to them.

Lewis just pulls Patrick closer, leans over Pete to gives him a sloppy kiss, and Patrick’s frown melts away, turns into a little laugh under Lewis’ lips.

But Pete can’t help it, he’s still thrown off just a tiny bit. Was that a glimpse into the future, one Patrick sees without them? No, it can’t be. It’s them, Pete and Lewis and Patrick, and then Patrick shyly reaches for Pete’s hand, whispers an _I love you_ to him and his twin, and Pete decides to drop the thought.

Patrick understands them, right? He’d never do anything to hurt the twins, Pete is sure of that.

 

Once things are moving, they’re moving fast.

Patrick and Joe graduate, and soon enough, the four of them are looking for an apartment.

Andy isn’t interested – “I love you guys, but I don’t love you enough to endure you all day long.”

But Patrick and Joe are young and eager, and they don’t have any standards anyway. The twins are overjoyed, Joe is their best friend and band mate, and Patrick is even more – what more could they want out of their roommates?

No more sneaking into Joe’s house at night to keep him up for hours while re-watching Star Wars and bickering about music. No more distressed looks from Joe’s mom when she sees the twins standing in the doorway, mischief and trouble written all over their grinning faces. No more excuses and lies about the whereabouts and adventures of her teenage son. No more curfews. They’ll have Joe all to themselves.

No more locking the door behind Patrick, no more pressing a hand over his mouth because he has to keep quiet with his mom downstairs. No more stopping to listen if someone is outside in the hallway. No more concerned words from Patrick’s mom when he’s home late. No more fear to be found out. They’ll have Patrick all to themselves, too.

They have a budget though, a very slim one at that. “Look. Three rooms,” Joe points out to one particular ad during their search. “Within our price range. It’s the best we can get, right? You two,” he points at the twins, “you two can room together, right? You’re sharing a room now, you can just keep doing that until we’re rich and famous enough to buy a mansion.”

Patrick scoffs, but Pete and Lewis nod, eagerly. They never intended to do otherwise, and now, they can neatly disguise their slightly strange need to stick together with the excuse of having to save money.

College is done and over with. There’s lots of arguments with their parents, over wasted potential and wasted money, but the twins won’t budge. Pete isn’t sure if his parents realize that he actually has to do things for his scholarship, deliver accomplishments that he’s long behind, so that’s been out of the window for a while anyway. They try arguing with Lewis, who, just as in school, somehow managed to stay afloat with pretty decent grades even. He’s closer to graduating than Pete, and for a moment, Pete almost feels regret, wonders if he’s hindering his brother’s chance at getting a prolific degree and options in life that aren’t shitty apartments and impending poverty for an indefinite time.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lewis says when Pete brings it up after the last heated discussion with their parents. The twins are back in their room, left a fuming father and an equally angry mother in the living room; the tension lingers in the house, they know that Andrew and Hilary hate it, hate the loaded atmosphere, hate how what little time the twins spend home with their family is always spent fighting. It’s unfair towards them, and Pete and Lewis feel sorry, but it’s not like they asked for it. Mom and dad could just shut up for once and accept that their kids aren’t as they want them to be.

The twins are curled up in bed, face to face, stripped down to their underwear. It’s summer, the nights are warm, though they intend to lose their clothes for different purposes.

Lewis’ hands trail down his twin’s spine, feel familiar flesh and the rough scars of the regrettable tattoo that adorns both their backs. “I was done with college before we started. Why would I waste one more minute on it now that we have the band?” His fingers dig into Pete’s skin, and a scornful scoff escapes Lewis’ mouth. “What, are you afraid of mom and dad? What’re they gonna do, send us back to the fucking boot camp? We’re adults. We can do whatever the hell we want.”

“I just want you to be sure about this,” Pete mumbles, moans a little when Lewis’ hands dips under the waistband of his boxers.

“I have you and Patrick and the band. What more could I want?” Lewis grins, pulls his brother closer; Pete understands, rolls over so that he sits between Lewis’ legs.

“Us, Patrick, and the band,” Lewis repeats while Pete drags off their underwear. “Everything else, we’ll tear out of the world’s hand. They owe us everything and more.”

“Fuck them,” Pete says with a grin. “Fuck them,” Lewis whispers back, eternal confirmation.

Pete slides his hand down to his twin’s dick. Lewis groans in approval, bucks his hips in search for more. Pete straddles his lap, leans over until their foreheads touch. “Fuck them,” he whispers again, “I can’t wait to give you everything. To give _us_ everything. You and me, and we’ll give Patrick whatever he needs as well. I promise.”

“Promise,” Lewis says softly, “so do I.” Of course, how could he not? Lewis would never fall back behind Pete.

Words are traded for heated kisses. Pete’s dick, half-hard already, rubs against Lewis’ erection; delicious friction, illicit arousal, everything to get Pete fully hard soon. He could go for more, but it’s late, he’s tired, and soon, there’ll be enough days and nights they can spend together, catch up on everything whenever they want. For now, he’s content with this, even more so when his brother works a hand between them, wraps his fingers around their dicks. Pete buries his head in Lewis’ shoulder, focuses on the heat between his legs; more pressure and more friction, deft fingers that make Pete moan into his twin’s neck. He arches his back, tries to fuck harder into Lewis’ hand, orgasm so tantalizingly close already. Lewis comes first, and Pete follows soon.

They’re messy and sticky, but Lewis still pulls Pete closer. Warm skin, well-known tattoos, familiarity that always calms Lewis down. Pete lays his head on his chest, and Lewis hears him sigh, content. He’s tired, Lewis can tell. Lewis isn’t, but he at least wants his brother to get some rest.  

They haven’t taken their meds in a while, because why should they? There’s Patrick and the band, there’s a bright future and there’s them. There’s no need for anything else. Lewis certainly doesn’t miss the pills, doesn’t miss the feeling of choking on them whenever his irrational brain refuses to swallow. It’s nice to clear the fog out sometimes, but on most days, they’re doing fine.

 They’re doing fine. Everything is fine.

Pete has fallen asleep on him. Lewis throws his arm over him, and waits for the night to end.

 

They move in next month.

“It’s not a good idea,” dad says, always skeptical. “You two, alone? With two teens? How are you going to do this?”

Truth is, the twins haven’t thought everything through, but fuck that. They’ll manage it somehow.

“We’re in our twenties, dad. We got this,” Lewis says stubbornly; Pete stays silent, but there’s a spark of fire in his eyes, of anger and frustration.

“You got this?” Their father shakes his head. “I don’t believe that for even a second. I know my children, and I know you’re immature, chaotic, and have no sense of responsibility. It’s going to be a disaster.”

“What are you gonna do?” Lewis snaps, voice quiet but loaded with danger and destruction. “Send us back to boot camp?”

The twins aren’t juvenile enough to spit in anyone’s face anymore, but Pete has something even better. “What are you gonna do, dad?” he whispers with a grin, “drag your own children to court? You know us, so I guess you know what _crimes_ your perverted sons are guilty of, right? Would you rather see us in jail?”

With malicious satisfaction, the twins watch their father’s face turn white.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he says with a remarkably calm voice. “I don’t believe this nonsense. You two are just trying to provoke me. Go, I won’t stop you, but don’t think I’m going to pay for any of your expenses.”

The twins aren’t sure if he really doesn’t believe them, or if he just refuses to see the painfully obvious truth. It doesn’t matter, because dad doesn’t understand, doesn’t _want_ to understand, and the twins have no mercy for that. They leave, without a look back.

 

Everything in their new apartment is a little worn down, a bit dirty, a bit broken, just far from the comfort of the upper middle-class house in the suburbs that the twins grew up with. But it’s theirs. And finally, there’s just one bed in their room, squeaking a little and the mattress has seen better days but who cares?

“What if one of you brings home a girl?” Joe asks bewildered.

“What, you think even if we had two beds, one of us would just sleep through it?” Pete asks back, it’s not really a lie, so he doesn’t feel bad about it. They love Joe, he’s an awesome dude, but he doesn’t understand.

Joe makes a contemplative noise. “Makes sense,” he decides, “I guess one of you has to sleep on the couch then.”

“We’ll sleep in your bed,” Lewis says sweetly, “teach you some tricks for when _you_ finally get laid.”

“No thanks, that’s too gay. Take the couch,” Joe says with a laugh, and he doesn’t catch the way Patrick’s shoulders tense, doesn’t catch the meaningful glance the twins send him once Joe has turned away.

A double bed with enough space for more than two people? It’s no wonder Patrick spends more than one night with them there. Now that he’s had a taste of sex, there’s no way Patrick would say no. Always so eager, which is really adorable.

 

Patrick under Pete, Patrick on top of Lewis. Patrick in between them, any whiny protest lost when he almost chokes on Lewis’ dick; he’s still just not very good at multi-tasking when getting fucked. But there’s all the time in the world to make him like it.

 

Patrick next to them, curled up against Pete’s stomach, head buried in Lewis’ chest. Patrick on the couch, hand pressed over his mouth while Pete sucks him off with the thrilling knowledge that a clueless Joe sleeps next door.

 

Patrick on their bed, on all fours, whimpering a little; Pete has two fingers inside of him, and Lewis sits next to them, brand new silver digital camera in his hand. Mom will make up for the now missing rent money.

“I dunno if this is a good idea,” Patrick whispers as a weak objection.

“Don’t be silly,” Lewis coos while he searches for the best angle, “You just look so beautiful, so fucking _beautiful_ , Patrick.”

Pete moves his fingers, feathering over Patrick’s prostate until he’s clutching his hands in the sheets, fingers trembling, words traded for more whimpering. He just looks so pretty, pale thighs shaking a little, pink hole slick and stretched out around Pete’s fingers.

Lewis presses the shutter button.

All theirs, forever.

 

They play more shows – things are going great; the local audience starts to warm up to them even more. It helps that Andy is much more talented than any drummer they had, and that Patrick is warming up to performing in front of a live audience. The twins do everything they can to put themselves out there, and this time, they actually hear back. There aren’t any offers that the band agrees to accept, but there _are_ offers. That’s a start.

Before one of the shows, the twins watch Joe send Patrick a worried look, and they watch him drag Patrick out of the back door for a presumably private conversation. Not that Pete and Lewis have any sense of privacy, and why should there be a talk that doesn’t involve them? Andy doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t get involved when the two teens take off, he’s stated before that he’s not their babysitter. But the twins sneak off to follow them.

“Dude, are you like, crushing on one of them?”

Pete almost scoffs. How could Patrick want only _one_ of them?

“Shut up, Trohman. I’m not gay,” Patrick sneers. “They’re way too old and gross for me.”

“Well, you keep making hearty eyes at them,” Joe says almost inaudibly. If only he knew what else Patrick was doing to them. “We live together, dumbass. I see that shit.”

That’s only partially true; in all their years living at home under the much more watchful eyes of their parents, the twins have learned how to keep a secret. They hope Patrick has, too.

“Fuck you, Joe. Maybe _you’re_ the one who’s gay? Because _I_ didn’t get a shitty piercing to impress them,” Patrick says viciously, and the twins imagine his hand curled into a fist, ready to hit something. Joe reflexively covers his lip ring; it’s true, the twins dragged him with them, eager to share their obsession with everything needle and body art-related. Starry-eyed little Joe had been the perfect audience.

“Hey, chicks dig it.” Joe sounds a little hurt. “And I’m not gay, either.”

“Good.” Patrick throws away his empty can, misses the dumpster judging from the hollow sounds of tin bouncing over concrete. “That all?”

“Look, I’m just trying to hold this band together,” Joe says in a wary voice. “Everything is going so good, we might have a real chance here. And I want us all to get along. Andy might stay out of everyone’s business, but… I’m just not that level of cool-headedness.”

“I’m okay,” Patrick says with a sigh, the first hint of a bad conscience for snapping at Joe in his voice. “Pete and Lewis are assholes, but I can manage. You don’t need to worry.”

“Okay then. Sorry, Stump,” Joe laughs apologetically, and he sounds genuine. “Forget it. Let’s go and play a good show!”

Footsteps announce that they’re about to leave. The twins sneak away before they’re noticed, but there’s a spark of triumph in Pete, one he sees mirrored in Lewis’ face.

On stage, the twins are buzzing with energy, and with a victorious feeling and a little bit of vicious spite. The world may not accept what they have with Patrick, but the audience cheers when the twins press a kiss to Patrick’s cheek, making him flustered and missing a line. There’s laughing and screaming when Pete licks over Joe’s guitar, presses their foreheads together for a second, with Joe too surprised and delirious to pull away. Of course, there’s words like _faggots_ and _fuck off, homos_ thrown at them, but there’s something else underneath that; they’re not playing for their old audiences anymore, Fall Out Boy is different. And some of their new fans, there’s something – yeah, something the twins are sure they can work with. If anyone knows the pleasure of exhibitionism and exploitation, it’s Pete and Lewis.

Once the van is loaded up, they drag Patrick aside, press him against the wall and press a kiss to his frowning mouth.

“You did well with Joe,” Pete says afterwards, cups Patrick’s chin in his hand.

“Wait. You heard that?” Patrick asks angrily, batting his hand away. “Did you two follow us? Seriously, you’re so fucking creepy.”

“Talking about us behind our backs isn’t very nice,” Lewis comments, but all he gets is another frown as Patrick pushes them off, and stomps back to the van.

 

Everything is going fine. Despite that little irritating fight, Patrick still loves them. The twins know, because he says so each time he ends up in their bedroom, each time they blow him on the couch when Joe isn’t there, each time they hold him close and kiss him, with the promise of so much more to come in their eyes.

 

Patrick’s bottom lip caught between his teeth, the most he allows them to show on camera; mouth swollen a little from the blowjob he had just been giving. Patrick with cum on his belly, porcelain skin a pretty contrast to the blood-flushed pink of his spent cock. Pale fingers splaying possessively over tan skin, a white hand digging into Pete’s hip, a tongue licking over the tattoo on Lewis’ stomach. Moments preserved forever with the press of the shutter button. That’s proof that Patrick loves them, right?  

 

Patrick is a bit withdrawn after that confrontation with Joe, which Pete and Lewis chalk up to him being a grumpy teen, and also, still afraid Joe might find out. As if the twins were dumb enough to let that happen. They know how to keep relationships a secret, they know how to pretend, they know where to keep the little memory card with pictures that are just theirs, out of reach for anyone else. But whatever.

 

Patrick loves them.

 

Today, the twins were invited to a party. Patrick didn’t come, but that’s okay, he doesn’t like parties. He doesn’t like going out that much anyway, and it doesn’t matter that he’s been away from home for a few times now without the twins’ knowledge of what he’s doing and where he’s going. After him being so pissed at them for on listening in on his fight with Joe, the twins were nice enough to back off a little.

They stumble home that evening, all giddy and drunk on excitement and cheap alcohol. No Patrick to be seen, which is a pity, but the twins just help themselves to bed. Patrick will still be there in the morning, maybe he’ll be up for a round of making out and everything else before Joe wakes up.

That thought lets the twins eventually leave their room next day. Patrick catches them in the kitchen, with a strange look on his face and the direction to follow him. The living room is cleaner than they remember, someone must’ve tidied it up. Which is strange, but not as strange as the fact that someone is sitting on the couch. It’s a girl the twins don’t know, who stands up with a friendly smile when she sees the twins.

“Pleased to meet you,” she says, her smile faltering a little when Pete and Lewis just keep staring at her. The fuck is she doing here? “I’ve heard so much about you two…”

“Guys,” Patrick says, takes a deep breath, and then, he takes her hand. He takes her hand, _that fucking bastard takes her hand_ , and it’s that moment Pete and Lewis realize. She stayed the night, and she’s not going to leave. That doe-eyed little beast is the reason Patrick has been acting so distant. She slipped into Patrick’s life, into _their_ life, the moment the twins stopped paying close attention. What a mistake that was.

“Guys,” Patrick repeats slowly, _how fucking dare he_ , “this is Anna.”

 

 

“Are we not enough,” Pete says through gritted teeth, while he paces their room, jaw clenched to stop himself from screaming. “Are we not enough for Patrick?! Everything we have – why would he want more!?”

“He’s a fool, like you once were,” Lewis just says, hinting at Pete’s short-lived failed relationship. Anger overcomes Pete, hot fury that makes him stop in his tracks, makes him grab his twin’s shoulders, throw him on the bed. He straddles Lewis’ lap, who doesn’t attempt to stop him. Lewis looks surprised, slightly confused, eyes wide as they stare up to his twin.

“I never…” Pete starts as his fingers curl into Lewis’s shoulder, enough to be painful. “It’s not my fucking fault you took part of my heart when you decided to split from me.”

“I _took_ it from you?” Lewis’ hand fists into Pete’s shirt. He drags him down, into a rough kiss, tongues fighting and teeth biting into soft lips until Pete pulls away with a mewl, the taste of copper in his mouth.

“We don’t _take_ things from each other,” Lewis hisses, “we _share_ them.”

“Oh yeah?” Lewis winces when Pete’s hands dig deeper into flesh and bones. “Go, Lewis, find yourself a girlfriend too,” Pete says viciously, “or go find the next-best twink who wants to be your boyfriend. See how _you_ like it. Go, leave me all alone, go think you’re someone better like Patrick does!”

Pete is breathing heavily, and for a second, all he feels is blind rage. He wants to scream, wants to hit that face so similar to his, wants to destroy Lewis as a proxy for destroying himself. That desire is mirrored in Lewis’ angry glare, in the way his eyes narrow as he mutters: “How about you give me back what belongs to _me_?”

What belongs to Lewis – it’s Pete’s heartbeat, it’s every inch of his body that mirrors his twin almost perfectly, and maybe, it’s the chance of a different life that Pete has ruined simply by existing. Lewis never had a girlfriend, but if he had, Pete knows, oh, he knows it would have ended exactly the same… No, Pete pushes that thought aside; it’s them, them, always them, there’s no other way it could be.

Underneath him, Lewis looks away. The twins rarely fight, they never doubt each other _– they_ are right, and the world is wrong, isn’t it? Lewis doesn’t like this, that’s not how it’s meant to be, and seeing Pete in distress, knowing his brother is upset because of him is an overwhelming guilt. Tears blur Lewis’ vision; they both feel miserable, but Lewis is usually the crier. He’s the one who sheds the tears for both of them, streams of salt that get wiped away by Pete’s trembling hands.

All the anger vanishes, and the twins forget their differences as Pete lets go of Lewis’ shoulders, and gets dragged into a close embrace instead, more desperation than comforting gesture.

 

“I would give it back, y’know,” Lewis whispers against Pete’s skin. “I’d rip out my heart for you if you wanted. You could take it, all of it, if that means you’re happy.”

The sincerity makes Pete smile, makes his chest ache in the best and worst ways possible. “You could have mine?” He offers weakly, and Lewis mirrors his smile as he wipes away the last bit of tears.

“I’m so sorry for starting a fight,” Lewis mumbles, raising his head so that two pairs of identical eyes can look into each other. “I’d never leave you, Pete, never!”

No, Lewis won’t leave him. “ _Never_ ,” Pete repeats, “never. It’s _us_ , Lewis, just us, the rest of the world can go to hell.”

Lewis nods, accepts the apologetic little kisses Pete gives to the small bruises his fingers left, just like back when they were kids.

“Patrick will understand,” Pete says in between two soft kisses, and he sounds so sincere and hopeful that Lewis feels his doubts and anger vanish. “We should let him do this. It’ll teach him a lesson, like it taught me. It’s us, and just us. He loves us. He can’t just give up on that.”

“He can’t,” Lewis whispers defiantly, “and he _won’t_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on my tumblr [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com), come say hi!  
> Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave a comment, those are what keep me going! ;)
> 
> Also, if you wanna see more art, go press the Kudos button if you haven't done so yet - I'll do something big if I reach 100! You know you want to - Pete and Lewis (and I) would love you forever!


	9. I Can Have Both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for your patience! A lot of stuff has happened in between - I started another fic, I finished one, I signed up for BBB, and so much more! I am back here now with some brand new chapter, and the promised artwork!  
> Thanks for the 100+ Kudos, this is so amazing!~
> 
> Thanks @Snitches for being an awesome and amazing beta reader like always!
> 
> Without further ado, here we go!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ever since Anna entered Patrick’s life, things have changed.

 

Being with her is so different to being with the twins. Although Patrick still doesn’t know what Pete and Lewis were to him – lovers? Boyfriends? Forbidden pleasure? — there’s no word he knows to describe two twins madly in love with him.

There’s no denying Patrick loves them, too. But what sort of love does he feel for Pete and Lewis? Patrick doesn’t know anymore.

 

All he knows is that with Anna, everything is different. She laughs lightheartedly when Patrick stumbles over words or makes mistakes, she smiles when he’s a bit awkward expressing his feelings. This is the first serious relationship for the both of them, and it’s such a nice change to be with someone who isn’t miles above him in experience, who doesn’t have a twin clinging to them like a shadow, always in support.

With Anna, everything is clear. She’s his girlfriend, they’re holding hands in public, exchange lip gloss-sweet kisses in the backseat of her car. Anna scribbles a heart on his hand with the glitter pen Patrick bought her – he’s too broke to afford anything else – and she gets him a framed picture of them, in a romantic embrace, to be displayed on Patrick’s messy desk right next to his Transformer collectibles. When he meets her friends, he’s introduced as her boyfriend, always with a proud smile.

Anna gets him jealous stares from Joe, who stops making comments about Patrick’s sexuality for good now. No more concerned looks, no more jokes about being gay, no more worried talks about his relationship with the twins. Instead, there’s jovial pats on the back, a wink and a holler whenever Anna comes to visit, it’s – it’s what friends do when there’s an ordinary relationship with a sensible girl. It’s so different, and Patrick relishes in it.

Anna gets his mom to gush over her, in an embarrassing, but endearing way; his mom never looks at her the way she looks at the twins, with motherly concerns, with a little bit of doubt, with a frown whenever they show up unshowered and tired from two days of sleeplessness. When his siblings come home from college, they tease their youngest brother about it, sure. But with a loving undertone, with pride, with something lighthearted that has never been in a conversation revolving around Pete and Lewis.

Anna is so real. And she gives him everything the twins can’t ever give him, no matter how hard they try.

 

Of course, Pete and Lewis don’t see it that way. They aren’t outright antagonizing her. Instead, they barely even acknowledge her existence.

 

“They’re just jealous,” Anna says one night, and Patrick’s heart skips a beat, as he tries to hold back the fear. But when she continues; “You’re their best friend, of course they’re jealous,” oh, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know, she’s so cheery and forgiving and Patrick feels awful and relieved at the same time, “I don’t mind, let them mope. I haven’t done anything, and I’m sure they’ll get over themselves, right?”

She doesn’t know, she just doesn’t get it, of course not. What regular person would understand? Why would a normal girl like her, all bright eyes and in her first adult relationship, ever think that her beloved boyfriend had two twin brothers fool around with him for so long?

“Right,” Patrick hears himself say, and he knows he’s lying, but Anna doesn’t know. Anna doesn’t understand. “Right, whatever. Let them sulk, and if they annoy you too much, I’ll just punch them. That usually works.”

Anna laughs, because to her, it’s a joke. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the two older friends of her boyfriend being rude.

Anna doesn’t understand, and Patrick doesn’t know if the relief and joy he feels about that are a good thing or a bad thing.

 

For a while, the twins lay off of him, which surprises Patrick. He expected tears and screaming, excepted anger. He thinks he heard them fight once, which he has never witnessed happening before. It must have shaken them to the core, because they’re unusually withdrawn, either clinging close together or glaring at each other in a way Patrick hasn’t ever seen before. Their silent fight is more unsettling than an open confrontation.

The open confrontation inevitably comes though. Pete and Lewis must have made up, they’re back to full unison and right now, they’re all back on the twin bed.

“The hell do you need Anna for?” Pete growls, supported by Lewis, nodding and adding: “Tell us, Patrick, were we not enough? Haven’t we given you everything?”

“Everything,” Pete echoes as he pushes Patrick down, like so many times before. Before Anna, Patrick wouldn’t have objected. He can’t deny he misses them, can’t deny that Pete and Lewis still look so fucking pretty, so goddamn tempting, that his heart beats a little faster whenever they – no. No. That’s not how it’s going anymore.

“You’re just jealous.” Patrick looks at them in defiance, knows his words are a challenge. They’re kind of a lie, too. Nothing is that simple with the twins, nothing is that easy with the way Patrick’s heart aches for them in a way it shouldn’t.

“Jealous?” Pete’ nails dig into Patrick’s wrists. He’s pinned to their bed, Pete on top of him, Lewis next to them. Just like so many other times, except right now everyone is fully clothed for once, and the tension in the room isn’t sexual either.

“Stop that,” Patrick hisses back, and pulls his wrists out of Pete’s grip. “Get the fuck away from me, asshole!” Before Pete can follow that command, Patrick has harshly pushed him off; if it weren’t for Lewis catching him, he’d have fallen to the ground. What a pity.

“You can’t treat me like that anymore. I’m not – I’m not your boyfriend, or anything. I have a girlfriend now, okay? This needs to stop.”

“What needs to stop?” Lewis says sweetly, and Patrick really, really wants to punch him. But when the twins’ hands are back on his body, they’re soft and gentle, almost shy. “This?” Lewis whispers, a hand – his hand? – running over Patrick’s chest, a tease over the fabric barrier between naked skin and wanting fingers. Patrick keeps staring forward, he’s not going to look, he’s not going to give in. They should stop, Patrick knows, this isn’t right, but what even is right anymore with them?

Patrick tries to push the hands away, tries to elbow the two bodies too close to him aside, and yet, as they comply, the coldness they leave feels so wrong. Pete and Lewis back off, much to Patrick’s surprise, sit back, hugging each other as they stare at Patrick with wide eyes.

The hands absent from his body only leave Patrick longing to have them back. The lips not kissing him are so dearly missed. And when Pete gives his twin a soothing kiss, their eyes darkened by disappointment and desire, Patrick’s heart throbs with urgent need.

 

A moment later, they tumble back on the middle of the mattress, where Lewis ends up underneath Patrick, staring up with wide brown eyes. He looks so fucking pretty, and Patrick knows all the other expressions Lewis could make, knows what it looks like when his mouth twists into a satisfied grin, knows what it’s like when his eyes squeeze shut and what it sounds like when those pretty lips let out a cry as he comes. He knows that Lewis’ brother mirrors his face almost perfectly in every expression, too.

Pete’s lips ghost over Patrick’s neck, a promiscuous promise. All Patrick needs to do is to bow down, kiss him, or turn his head and kiss the other half of Pete. Would that be so wrong?

 

Patrick wants the twins.

 

But he also wants everything else.

 

With that in mind, Patrick withdraws, gets up from the bed, away from the temptation. Two identical faces look at him with the same sense of confusion.

“No more,” Patrick says in a shaky voice, hands coiled into fists, body forced to stand tense to stop himself from shaking.

He leaves the room without further words. Pete and Lewis don’t attempt to hold him back. No screaming, no dramatic words, no fight. Patrick should be glad.

 

Truth is, their silence only scares him even more.

 

At their next local gig, the twins are handsier than usual, throwing themselves at Patrick, pressing as close to Joe as possible, everything they can to get Patrick flustered and annoyed. It’s for show, he tells himself, clenches his hands and keeps singing. Fuck, he really, really wishes he had an instrument to play. Being so open and defenseless makes him stumble over the lines, makes him feel exposed, makes it easier for Pete and Lewis to grind closer to him. What’s Patrick gonna do, shove them away and ruin the performance for everyone?

After the show, the twins disappear into the crowd. Whatever, Patrick tries not to mind; Anna is here, always the supportive girlfriend, she laughs and compliments him and Patrick feels warmth in his chest. He takes her hand – sporting a big black X – determined to get out of here as soon as he can. Andy gives a polite nod, Joe waves his hand and gives them a poorly executed wink, making Anna laugh, and then Patrick tries to find his way out as soon as he can. He doesn’t plan on saying goodbye to Pete and Lewis, those two can go fuck themselves. They’re not his babysitter or parents or anyone else who has the right to know where he is at all times.

Patrick almost makes it out unscathed, he’s so close to the exit, so close to the freedom of not caring. His mistake is morbid curiosity as he turns around, wondering if maybe, he’ll catch sight of the twins staring at him in jealousy, something that Patrick can’t deny makes him feel a perverse sense of pleasure.

But no such luck.

He catches sight of them at the bar, for just a moment, but that’s enough. There’s a pretty girl lodged between Lewis’ legs. Pete stands next to him, arm slung around the hips of another beautiful girl holding a drinkthat the X on her hand should’ve prevented from being there. He’s laughing, all toothy smile and bright eyes, and then, said bright eyes meet Patrick’s. It’s just for a split second, but it’s enough to give Patrick an unsettling feeling of rage and despair. It’s ridiculous, it’s so ridiculous, he shouldn’t care, but oh, he does, how _dare_ those fucking bastards?

“You okay?” Anna asks over the music, and Patrick turns back to her. The discrepancy between his idolized dreams and the reality is throwing him off.

“I’m good,” Patrick answers, wonders why lies seep into everything he says regarding the twins. They did this for _him_ , they wanted him to notice, that’s why they sat in the most obvious spot and damn it, like the fool that he is, Patrick played along and looked for them despite knowing better. He hates the twins, but he hates himself even more as he takes Anna’s hand again, and drags her off into the cold, lonely night.

He loves Anna, he really does. But he loves the twins, too, and he doesn’t know how to handle both.  

 

Five boys crammed into a van, again. They’re off for a few weeks, touring outside of Chicago which makes Patrick anxious. The crowds anywhere else are harsher on them, the audience in other cities don’t have Anna in them. She’s back home, waiting for him, just a text message on his phone and a picture in his wallet, the same one he has framed on his desk. The further he gets away from her, the more she fades into the blurry lights of the city, the thin air of the night, the edge of a dream. She’s not an anchor to reality, more a reminder of a life that Patrick suddenly wonders if he can keep it up.

The band is doing pretty good, he knows there’s been offers to get signed, knows the twins are doing their everything. If they get successful, how often will Patrick be away from home? Recording, studio time, playing concerts. Festivals, interviews, promotions. Music videos, photo shoots, endless roads to travel away from home. Away from _her_ , but always close to Pete and Lewis. His heart aches again. Dreams and reality suddenly don’t seem so easily separable anymore.

 

On stage, bright lights and a cheering crowd. Pete and Lewis, excited as they introduce Fall Out Boy, and they’re so close, they’re always so goddamn close to him. Pete’s lips on his neck. Lewis’ head resting on his shoulders. Pete’s arm around his waist. Lewis’ hand tugging down his hat. Right there for everyone to see, and yet no one really knows what’s behind those gestures. Fuck, even Patrick doesn’t.

Where’s the line with Pete and Lewis – has there ever been a line to begin with?

 

Another night on the road, another anonymous gas station somewhere in – wherever. Patrick has lost track of where they are. He’s lost track on a lot of things.

 

While everyone else leaves the bus, Patrick stays, curls up, he just wants to sleep. But not long after, he hears the twins coming back. Patrick glances at them, surprised to see a bottle of water in Lewis’ hand. He can’t recall the last time he has seen the twins drink anything that wasn’t full of too much sugar, caffeine, or alcohol.

Even more surprising are the pills he sees in Pete’s hands.

He knows (hopes) they take their meds, but come to think of it, he’s never actually seen them despite them all living together. Pete downs his one first, then hands Lewis the first inconspicuous looking pill. There’s resistance in Lewis’ eyes, which catches Patrick’s attention. He’s never really _seen_ the twins fight, especially not over such little things. Right now, though, there’s conflict brewing, and Patrick tenses. He’s had enough of fighting. Maybe they’ll leave him alone if he pretends to be asleep.

“Lewis,” he can hear Pete say through gritted teeth, tired and angry. “Take ‘em. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t need those,” comes the stubborn-sounding reply from his brother. “We don’t need them, Pete. I’m doing okay, I don’t need those.”

That’s not very reassuring to hear. Patrick doesn’t know much about medication, but is that save? To take them on a whim? To refuse them this easily?

Pete isn’t having it. “For me,” he just says quietly, and at that, Lewis’ resistance crumbles into dust and a long-drawn sigh.

Next thing Patrick hears is the sound of teeth breaking something, grinding whatever pill Lewis took into fine powder in his mouth. It’s gross. Patrick shudders, the sound of Lewis letting out a disgusted cough isn’t making it better. Another one, again the sound of the pill breaking in Lewis’ mouth, loud and clear in the silence of the night. It makes the hair on Patrick’s arms stand up, and then there’s more teeth grinding, Lewis retching, and another miserable sound as Lewis gulps down more water and _fuck_ , there’s a third pill and that’s where Patrick fucking loses it.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” Patrick yells as he sits up, glaring at the twins. They’re doing this to annoy him, they’ve been prodding and poking and trying to prompt a fight since forever and Patrick has fucking had it with them. “Just fucking swallow the damn thing, asshole, don’t make such a big show out of it! If you won’t choke on people’s dicks, how hard can it be to not vomit all over yourself because of some stupid fucking pill?”

The water bottle hits him as soon as the words have left his mouth. It spills water all over him, then rolls off and spills the rest of the water on the floor and presumably all over their second-best amp. Patrick can’t bring himself to care.

 

All he can focus on is rushing forward, and then his fist hits Lewis’ face. Before he knows it the three of them have stumbled into the parking lot, there’s a fist punching his stomach, and Patrick blindly hits back. All the pent-up anger releases into his veins, and all he can feel is fire, bright sparks when his fists hit someone, a flash of white pain when he’s hit back, hot blood cooling in the air when his nose meets one of the twins’ arms, splashes red all over his face and shirt. Patrick can taste copper, spits a load of red right into Pete’s stupid face. The triumph doesn’t last long.

More fists, more pain, until a well-placed kick to the stomach makes Lewis fold himself over with a whimper, and for a split second, Pete seems torn between wanting to throw another punch at Patrick or helping his brother.

That moment of uncertainty is all Patrick needs to get a good swing at Pete’s face. He yelps, stumbles back, and Patrick tackles him to the ground. The twins are older and stronger, but Patrick is heavier, he’s full of anger, and right now he has the upper hand; and then, his hands have Pete’s throat in their grip.

Pete’s eyes widen almost comically, and he struggles, body squirming underneath Patrick, a parody of what it did so many happier times before. It’s no use, he’s not strong enough to get Patrick off of him and with each breath Patrick takes and Pete doesn’t, Pete’s resistance dwindles.

 

Pale fingers wrapped around tan skin, and the blood matches the red of Pete’s shirt perfectly. Time stands still.

 

A dull scream registers distantly in Patrick’s brain, but words don’t make sense. Sharp pain replaces the noise, and everything goes black when his head hits the pavement. Patrick gasps for air, panic low in his stomach while he silently begs he won’t have an asthma attack right now. His head hurts and his vision is unfocused, fuck, he can’t remember if he has taken his glasses off before, or if they’re inevitably lost or destroyed in the fight.

Patrick sits up, braces himself for more violence. Nothing comes. Lewis is kneeling next to his brother, who’s coughing and gagging miserably, the shadow of Patrick’s hand still clinging to his throat in the form of finger-shaped bruises.

Patrick wonders if Lewis would wrap his own hands around Patrick’s throat and press down if it wasn’t for Pete needing his help. Patrick wonders how far he would’ve gone with Pete if it wasn’t for his brother intervening, if he really would’ve hurt Pete badly, driven mad by the anger and the immense wave of power he suddenly felt over the twins for the first time ever.

Warm blood runs down Patrick’s temple, and he wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket. It’s ruined already anyway. Maybe it’s best not to ask these questions. Some things are better left unsaid. Why have regrets over something that didn’t get to happen?

Just some boys getting into a little fight. They’re fine. Everything is fine.

Pete looks utterly wretched, but he’s stopped coughing at least. Patrick wipes more blood off his face, knows he must look terrible, too.

 

Then, Andy and Joe are back, and with them, the nightmarish atmosphere vanishes. There’s no more insane glimmer in the twins’ eyes, no more fury clouding Patrick’s mind. Just Patrick and the twins getting into a fight.

“Whatever the hell this was about, I hope you solved it.” Andy sounds utterly pissed, and Patrick looks away. The fighting suddenly seems very juvenile, and Patrick feels like a little child getting scolded.

A few minutes later, they’re all sitting in the van again. Andy’s checking up on them, resignation etched into his face. Patrick is sure it’s not the first time he had to patch up his bandmates.

“It’s nothing serious.” Andy sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Be fucking glad, because we’re in the middle of nowhere, at night, with no money for a hospital visit.”

Lewis mumbles an insult while he fumbles with the band-aid on his temple, and Andy raises his brows. “Stop complaining. You probably deserved it.”

“Fuck you, Hurley,” Pete says in a hoarse voice.

“This isn’t Arma,” Andy answers with anger in his voice. “You promised this was going to be different. I’m here to play in a fucking band, not watch my jackass friends destroy themselves. That goes for you, too,” Andy turns to Patrick, who burns with humiliation and defiance. Joe pats his shoulder, and Patrick rides shotgun as Joe drives. In the back, Andy is trying to get some sleep. The twins are silent again.

Again, their silence feels more unsettling than an actual fight.

 

Next day at the motel, Andy steps between Patrick and the twins.

“Last time you three were alone, you almost landed in a hospital. We’re all getting a room together, so that no one here is tempted to do something stupid.”

Patrick glares at the floor, yet doesn’t dare to object. He liked it better when Andy didn’t intervene. He doesn’t need Andy to solve his problems.

There’s a vending machine outside; Patrick spends his last money on an overpriced bottle of water. He hands it to Lewis, a silent _I’m sorry_ that makes Lewis’ lips curl into the much-missed smile, makes Pete whisper a much-wanted _thank you_.

There’s two bunk beds in the room; it goes without saying that the twins curl up into one bed together. Pete and Lewis and no Patrick. Patrick likes the thought of that less and less.

He tries to remind himself of Anna. Her smile, the sweet kisses, uncomplicated young love. And Patrick does love her.

But there’s two more people demanding space in his life and reign over his heart.

The silence of the night weights heavy on Patrick, just like his bad conscience.

 

Patrick is glad when they get home. Although not for the usual reasons. He dreads the awkward atmosphere between him and the twins that has remained uncomfortable throughout the last days of touring. He hasn’t actually talked to them aside from profanities and the utmost necessities. He’s not sure he wants to.

His time with Anna is all heated kisses and desperate, horny makeout sessions, catching up on intimacies and sex, whispering words like _I miss you_ and _I love you_. They feel like the truth – but only a small part of it. The unsaid addition of _and I also love someone_ else weighs heavy on Patrick’s tongue as it drags over her lips, her soft skin, wanders between her legs.

Anna doesn’t know. Anna doesn’t understand. Patrick swallows the words and tries to ignore everything else. He wants Anna, he wants her so badly.

But what else does he want – and how much does he want it? How much is he willing to risk? Patrick isn’t so sure anymore. The world is shaking and tumbling down around him, and digs his fingers into Anna’s thigh, her moan a confirmation of reality. A reality Patrick no longer has a clear picture of.

 

The atmosphere at the apartment is getting worse each day, until Joe sits Patrick down on their couch.

“You gotta clear things up with them,” Joe starts, droopy eyes full of hurt. He looks stoned. He _smells_ stoned.

“Nothing happened,” Patrick says stubbornly. He hasn’t done anything, so why the guilty conscience? All that happened was that he got Anna, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t deserve to be burdened.

Joe sighs, rubs his temples. He’s been in the middle of this for a while now, and Patrick can tell he’s tired. Patrick knows Joe hates fighting, hates that the situation is so weird and unnecessarily complicated and that he doesn’t understand what’s going on. It’s Joe’s apartment, too, and he deserves better than to have to smoke weed to calm down enough to endure being in his own home.

“Just don’t piss in their room, Stump. And don’t try to strangle them.” With that, Joe marches off, slams the door to his room shut, leaving Patrick with silence. That seems to be a common occurrence these days.

 

Confrontation with Pete and Lewis is inevitable.

 

When Joe’s out the next day, Patrick arms himself with another water bottle again absent a better gesture, and barges into their room.

He finds Pete sitting on the bed, scribbling into a notebook, and Lewis on the floor, a guitar in his hands, fingers trailing over the strings in search for a melody. Patrick holds out the water bottle as a silent peace offering. Lewis looks at him like he’s crazy, Pete on the bed mirroring that expression.

“I don’t know why you need this.” Patrick clears his throat, feeling slightly ridiculous. “Although I was fairly sure you’re doing this to annoy me.”

“I don’t like the pills,” Lewis whispers softly, “I never did, I _hate_ them, and I can’t. I just can’t – it’s nothing rational, I just can’t.”

Finally, Pete leans forward and takes the water bottle from Patrick. He places it next to the bed, then pats the free space on the mattress next to him. Patrick sits down, and Pete slings an arm around him, while Lewis rests his head in Patrick’s lap. No one says anything, but for the first time, the silence feels comfortable.

“Sorry, Lewis.” Patrick wonders fleetingly why it’s him who apologizes all of the sudden. “I didn’t know…”

“Well, now you do.” Lewis scoffs, but there’s still hurt in his eyes, a sadness that is tugging at Patrick’s heart. “Fun, isn’t it? Watching me being crazy and irrational.”

“It’s not,” Patrick says firmly, with more guilt flooding him. That’s never been his intention, and as much as Patrick can be a feisty asshole, he would never make fun of the twins’ mental issues.

 

“Why don’t you watch me do something fun then?”

With these words, Lewis slides next to Patrick on the mattress, mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t – we talked about this,” Patrick tries to argue as the twins are suddenly way too close to him, “I have a girlfriend – we can’t do this.”

“ _We_ aren’t doing anything then,” Pete says sweetly. He pushes Patrick down, then draws Lewis closer to him. “’s just me and Lewis, and all you do is watch. No touching, no nothing. You’re not doing anything.”

“You watch porn, don’t you?” Lewis drags off their shirts, eyes still fixed on Patrick who looks away.

“Well, yeah, I do,” Patrick confesses in a small voice. The mattress shifts as the twins get rid of the rest of their clothes, and Patrick swallows. Just looking. Is that so wrong?

 

There’s no denying he’s still in love with Pete and Lewis, and isn’t that already betrayal enough? What does it matter if the fantasies he still jerks off to more often than he’d like to admit come to life again? He can’t force the twins out of his heart, and maybe, just giving in a little would actually help to soothe the ache.

Normally, the twins would put on more of a show, be slow, be a tease. Today, they’re desperate, there’s an urgency behind their fervent kisses and hasty strokes. They’ve missed this, they’ve missed him, Patrick, and pride lets Patrick’s heart swell, makes him grin while he watches how Lewis fingers Pete open. Pete keeps his eyes fixed on Patrick as he rocks back on his twin’s hands, two digits already inside of him. His hard cock is right there for Patrick to see, and if Pete angles his hips just right, Patrick can catch a glimpse of his wet entrance, stretched tight around Lewis’ fingers.

Everything in Patrick wants to lean forward and touch. He knows the twins would let him, they always do. They want him. They need him. Him. Him. Him alone. And yet, Patrick holds back, despite his own dick hardening in his pants, despite the raging desire tearing his heart apart.

Lewis’ fingers slide out of Pete, and then, Lewis pushes his brother down.

Pete is on his hands and knees, towering over Patrick, so close, yet not touching him. Just like he promised. But Patrick can feel the heat radiating from his naked skin, can smell the musky scent of sweat and sex, can feel Pete’s breath caressing his face with every delectable little moan Pete lets out. He can hear Lewis’ groans, sees how Pete’s eyes widen with pleasure every time his brother thrusts into him, and despite the obstructed view, he knows exactly what Lewis’ face looks like right now, half-lidded dreamy eyes, spit-damp lips parted, a beautiful blush…

 

Patrick is just looking. Just looking. Just looking.

 

After a while, Pete’s moans get more desperate, his eyes pleading for release. His dick is still untouched, curving against his stomach, just begging for Patrick’s hand. Pete needs him. Needs him. Fuck, Patrick has to bite his lips and fist his hands into the sheets. He wants to jerk Pete off, wants to lean forward and lick away the steady drip of precum that’s already staining his shirt, he wants, he fucking wants so badly.

Finally, Lewis takes mercy with his brother, too impatient for Patrick to make up his mind. He wraps a hand around his twin’s dick, starts stroking him off fast and rough.

Pete comes all over Patrick’s shirt and the exposed stripe of skin where his shirt has ridden up. Patrick feels like he’s three seconds away from doing the same, cock aching to a painful point, still pressing against his jeans, hard and unforgiving.

Pete slumps forward a little, and if Patrick raised his head, he could easily kiss him. Pete looks so fucking beautiful, parted lips letting out soft _oh_ s, dark, dreamy eyes still caught up in the afterglow, a blush spreading over his face, no doubt the same that paints his brother’s skin as well.

A few more thrusts, then Pete cries out as Lewis comes, fills him up, oh God, no, Patrick can’t – he mustn’t, he’s just looking.

A hair’s width is between his and Pete’s lips. Pete doesn’t close the distance, and Patrick’s heart aches, hurts almost as badly with unfulfilled desire as his throbbing erection. Then, Pete shifts his position, probably wants to climb off of Patrick and no, fuck, no, Patrick can’t have this, he can’t stop being Patrick’s yet. He’s so fucking gorgeous, all illicit promise and forbidden love, and Patrick won’t touch, he won’t, but he wants what little he can get.

“Don’t move,” Patrick chokes out through gritted teeth. Pete stills, dark eyes locking with Patrick’s, the heat of his skin so close, the smell of sweat and sex still filling Patrick’s nose. Lewis is out of Patrick’s field of vision but he’s still there, breathing hard, the same pair of pretty eyes no doubt staring at them, with the same sense of hunger.

Within no time, Patrick has undone his pants, and freed his cock. He thinks he actually lets out a sob of sheer relief when his fingers finally wrap around his aching length, but can’t bring himself to care. He desperately wants to sink into Pete’s tight heat, want to bury his cock into Pete’s body, claim him just like his brother did just now. He longs to have Lewis’ hands on his body, wants so badly to let it be the three of them again.

It’s four strokes, then Patrick comes with a stuttered cry, body writhing against the sweat-damp sheets, the intensity of the pent-up tension releasing into a breathtaking, overwhelming orgasm.

 

All Patrick did was look, right?

 

Patrick lets go of his dick, and Pete gets up, falls into the sheets beneath him. Patrick’s cum sticks to his thighs and the small of his back, milky-white stains on a golden canvas. Patrick wants to lean forward, wants to lick it away until Pete is shivering under his touch, begging for his tongue to be somewhere else. Patrick won’t. But he knows who will.

“Clean him up, Lewis.”

Cold pride swells in Patrick’s chest when Lewis falters, leans forward, and does as he’s told. It’s the same rush he felt when his hand wrapped around Pete’s throat. Something dark and heavy, but oh so enjoyable in all the wrong ways. No, not _wrong_ ways, just _different_ ways. Nothing is normal with the twins, right? But that doesn’t mean it’s _wrong_ , right?

Patrick knows the twins would agree.

Lewis keeps his eyes fixed on Patrick while his tongue licks over his twin’s skin, swirls over the almost identical tattoos. He moans a little, licks his lips when he’s done, and Patrick tries not to think about how many times Lewis has had his taste on his tongue.  

Silence settles between them.

 

“Want to cuddle?” Pete asks softly, pats the free space on the mattress next to him. Dammit, why does he have to sound so nice and sincere?

“We love you, Patrick.” Lewis slings his arm around Pete’s chest, watches him with the same amber eyes as his twin. “We just want you to be happy.”

“I don’t know how that’s possible,” Patrick whispers, voice breaking a little, just like his heart.  

The twins did everything he wanted, everything _Patrick_ asked them to do, _he’s_ the one who’s guilty. Pete and Lewis aren’t the one with a girlfriend. Pete and Lewis would’ve stopped had Patrick said no, so why, just fucking why couldn’t he bring himself to do so?!

It would be easier if the twins were lying, if they were just dickheads who screwed around with him, if they had laughed at him cold-heartedly and pushed him away. In that case, Patrick could’ve just walked away, booked it under a painful but short and dumb teen romance, an awkward story of sexual mishaps and nothing more.

But they aren’t lying, they _do_ love him, they _do_ want to make him happy, and the intensity of their emotions feels suffocating and much more complicated than anything else. Instead of breaking away, Patrick just feels himself falling in love with them even further.

“You can have Anna.” Pete props himself up on his elbows, looks at Patrick with a pensive gaze. “You deserve the world, Patrick, and if she makes you happy, so be it. Go, enjoy her, take what you can get. But we know she won’t always be there. We know she can’t give you everything. We know there’s more you want.”

Lewis leans over Pete’s shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. Just like his brother, he’s just being sincere. “And we’ll give you everything else, Patrick. We love you. You love us. What’s wrong about wanting to be happy?”

 

“That’s cheating, isn’t it?” There’s a lump in Patrick’s throat; he isn’t sure if he should even ask this question. Should he just get up and leave? But it’s the most productive talk he’s had with the twins in weeks, and the ache in his heart lets him hold back. He wants the twins, wants them so badly, and if they offer… Would it be so bad? It’s their idea, their arrangement, and if they’re all fine with it… Would that be so wrong?

Pete shakes his head. “Cheating? On whom? Us? No. On your little girlfriend? Well… She doesn’t need to find out, does she?”

“We’re getting signed, Patrick,” Lewis whispers, an ecstatic glimmer in his eyes. “Our band will be huge, we know it. Plenty of opportunity to share your love with us away from prying eyes. Wouldn’t Anna want you to be happy?”

“We’re not hurting anyone, are we?” Pete asks softly, his hand reaching for Patrick’s. “We just love you so much.”

The lump in Patrick’s throat is growing. He loves Anna. He wants it to work. But he also loves Pete and Lewis, and they’re offering up the perfect solution. Everyone will be happy. And that sounds much better than the dreadful silence, jealousy, and fighting of the last few weeks.

“What about the pictures?” Patrick glances towards the camera on their shelf. He knows they keep the memory card hidden away somewhere, not to be found by any one not supposed to see its content.

There’s a laugh as the twins grin at each other. “Those are ours, dumbass,” Pete answers, his hand squeezing Patrick’s. “Just ours. And we don’t like to share.”

Pete and Lewis are many things, chaotic and reckless, but they’re also very careful when it comes to hiding, and what they set their mind on, they follow through. If they intend to keep the photos for themselves, no one will ever see them. If they don’t want to share, Pete and Lewis would rather see them destroyed than to have to give them up to someone else.

Patrick feels a smile tugging at his lips. “I love you,” he says softly as he leans down to brush a kiss over each of their faces. “We can make this work, right?”

Pete and Lewis smile back, as Pete answers for both of them. “Of course we can.”

 

 

A week after, Fall Out Boy signs their first record deal. The twins kept their promise, and as the band celebrates with their parents and store-brand champagne, Patrick can’t help but exchange a knowing grin with Pete and Lewis. What else do they have in store for him? What else are they willing to do for him? What more is there to come?

 

Oh, Patrick is more than eager to find out.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sunshine and rainbows, right? This can only go well, right? Oh, we'll see. 
> 
> You can find me on my tumblr [here](https://das-verlorene-kind.tumblr.com), come say hi!  
> Thank you for reading, please feel free to leave a comment and tell me if you like the fic and/or artwork, it's what keeps me going! ;)


	10. Spent The Day In Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, everyone! Don't worry, I don't ever intend to abandon my beloved boys! Life is just a bitch sometimes.

The world is a whirlwind around the twins.

 

A black-on-white contract with their names, promising them to a label, and promising them more chances than ever before.

Patrick watches as the twins sign their name, looped P and crooked L and the almost identical-looking _Wentz_. In a way, they’re all bound together by law now.

Patrick watches as the twins take pictures to commemorate the evening. If they can commit it to pixels, it must be real. Snap, snap, caught to be forever theirs. His hair got longer, peeking out of the knitted cap the twins once gave him, and since he can’t quite grow a full beard, he’s growing sideburns. It’s so awkward and so _Patrick_.

Patrick’s forced smile in the photographs gets blurrier and blurrier as the evening progresses and more alcohol enters the twins’ mouths. Joe is the only one to take them aside, concerned like he always is. “I’m not sure you two should be drinking that much,” he says nervously, leaving unsaid why. Not like he needs to point it out.

“’s to celebrate!” Pete shouts over the noise of the room, “live a little, Trohman.”

Throwing an arm over his brother’s shoulder, Lewis shouts: “Smile!” Good boy that he is, Joe does; the flash of the camera makes him blink, and the twins laugh.

Over the course of the evening, Pete and Lewis lose their shirts, and eventually the contents of their stomachs. There’s not much else they remember, but what does stand out among concerned faces and a distinct “told you so” speech from Joe is a pale hand gently resting on a sweaty forehead, lips pressed against the flicker of two hearts beating in sync in heaving chests. Next day, the hungover twins find a bottle of water next to their bed, as well as a small, silver digital camera. They know who put it there.

 

Fall Out Boy is still sort of amateurish, with no one in the band having ever gone through with such a big project. But it’s what Pete and Lewis want. What all of them want. Even Andy, who sighed before agreeing to sign with them.

“I never stood a chance, did I?” He says softly, and Pete laughs. No, no one stands a chance against the twins if they want something.

“Promise me one thing.” Andy eyes the twins thoughtfully. “You have to leave the kid alone. No more fights or anything. He’s immature enough without you two riling him up.”

“We and Patrick are fine,” Pete says with a shrug. He doesn’t say that there’s no _we and Patrick_. Just _we. Us_. Pete, Lewis, Patrick, _them_. But that’s not what Andy asked, that’s not what Andy wants to hear, that’s not what he cares about. So, neither Pete nor Lewis tell him.

What Andy wants is a band, he wants the success and opportunities and the girls backstage, he wants to play his drums in the spotlight and that’s exactly what the twins will give him. He signs his fate away to them on the same dotted line as everyone else.

 

Patrick watches as Pete shifts through his lyrics, stitches and twists them into something formidable. It’s a fight every time, same with Lewis and Joe who spend an equal amount of time with Patrick on the music. Within a week, the album is written, and within a week, the whole thing is recorded.

 

Within the studio, everything is fine. Patrick sings. The twins play. Everything is fine. Fine.

 

Outside of the studio, everything has shifted out of place.

 

Patrick watches them play on stage, watches them walk away with someone from the crowd afterwards. He sneers when he sees the marks of someone else on their skin, the hickeys, the scratches, but says nothing.

It’s only fair Pete and Lewis get to have some fun, too. Those other people, they don’t _mean_ anything, they’re just a means to an end. Sweat-soaked symphonies and bright white orgasms, primal release and the tiny bit of righteousness when they see the hurt in Patrick’s eyes. Well, _Pete and Lewis_ never wanted to hurt him. They didn’t do anything wrong. It’s _Patrick_ who can’t see straight. He’s hurting himself. He could end all this with a wave of his hand. Patrick doesn’t, so the twins carry on.

 

Patrick watches as the twins fuck; alone, no foreign faces are present when Patrick is there.

 

In their bed, panting and sweating as they have Patrick pinned to the bed. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch, just stares at them with hungry eyes.

 

Against the wall, Pete’s trembling hands barely able to support the weight of his twin. Patrick stares at them, this time, from behind a camera. When the flash goes off, Pete and Lewis grin.

 

Backstage in shitty bars and clubs, half-hidden in the dark, moans muffled by Patrick’s hand as he tries to keep them quiet. Anna is waiting for him outside, and the twins feel immensely petty that they got him first, that he’ll blow his stage high against their skinny jeans and shirtless torsos.

 

In _his_ bed, Pete pounding into Lewis, intending to make him come all over the sheets so that Patrick can smell them next time Anna is over. Patrick’s hand intervenes again, breaks his code of _no touching_ when he jerks Lewis off, prevents him from dirtying up the bed any further by letting him come in his fist. There’s a flicker of hesitation in Patrick’s eyes, an unsaid question; Lewis opens his mouth, licks over pale fingers until every taste of salt is gone.

“We don’t judge you,” Pete says afterwards when Patrick sniffs, rubs over his eyes in a traitorous manner. “We love you, Patrick. We would never want to hurt you, ever.”

“We love you,” Lewis repeats softly as he kisses away more salt from Patrick’s skin, this time, from his cheek, born from saltwater eyes. “Why do you have to be so hard on yourself?”

Patrick doesn’t answer, just turns away from them.

 

They all leave for tour again, packed up tightly with equipment and instruments and big dreams. The audiences grow bigger. Their merch table makes more money. Their album actually sells. Everything seems to be going up, and Pete and Lewis can’t understand why it feels like they’re falling.

Patrick watches Pete and Lewis onstage, shakes his head at their antics later. Jumping from amps, hanging down from the ceiling, throwing themselves into the crowd, the twins take everything they can get, always aware of the many pair of eyes in the audience and that one pair of eyes that truly matters.

On the road through the states, a precious night at a motel. Far away from Chicago, and yet so close to home when Patrick slips into their room, trucker hat drawn over his eyes as if there was someone he needed to hide from. Well, if he needs to hide from the world, the twins will always welcome him with open arms.

“I’m so sorry, guys,” Patrick says softly as he sits down on the twin bed, soon joined by the actual pair of twins. “I just – I just don’t know what to do…”

Pete takes his hand, relieved when Patrick doesn’t flinch, makes no attempt to withdraw it. “You have questions?”

“Well, we’re the answer,” Lewis whispers. “You don’t need to worry. Just let us take care of everything. We love you, and we’ll give you everything you need – all you need to do is love us back…”

 

Three naked bodies occupy the bed not long ago after that, a mess of sweat and limbs, a concert of moans and whines and lips meeting soft flesh.

Patrick watches as his cock slides further into Pete’s mouth, all the way in until Pete’s lips meet his groin. “I love you too,” he whispers in a hoarse voice, “fuck, I love you – love you two so much…”

Behind the camera, Lewis smiles for the both of them.

 

 

But Anna is still there. She stays at Patrick’s side, pink-painted lips parted for a smile, her boobs pressing against her shirt – which is actually _Patrick’s_ shirt, hasn’t she taken enough of him already?! – the public display of her affection a blessing, not a burden.

Nothing hurts more than the thought that there’s something they will never be able to give Patrick. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not _right_ . There’s two of them, why can’t that be enough, why can’t _they_ be enough!?

Sometimes they catch a glimpse of Anna, catch sight of Patrick smiling at her. They don’t hate Anna, they hate everything she stands for. Lip gloss-sweet kisses, soft blond hair, an all-American smile. Excited youth and teenage dreams while the twins are turning twenty-four this year, dangerously close to falling off into the abyss of approaching the number thirty. Patrick isn’t even twenty yet. Oh, best not think of it.

 

Patrick watches them on set for their music video, in make-up and all made up. They’re facing the camera, but the only one they play for is Patrick.

 

Endless roads pass them by as they drive, drive, drive. Always escaping, always on the run, always hunting for that elusive little more. Andy and Patrick are in the front, leaving Pete to attend to his carsick brother and a sleepy Joe.

“You gotta stop being so pissy,” Joe mumbles, starting a conversation that’s clearly supposed to be kept between the three of them.

Lewis glares at him as he shifts his position a little. “I’m just carsick, asshole.”

“You gotta stop being so pissy with _Patrick_ ,” Joe clarifies, although the twins would very much prefer not to have this conversation with him. Or anyone. They’re fine. Everything is fucking fine. “Maybe if you got girlfriends of your own…”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Pete interrupts him in a low voice. “Unlike _you_ , we can get laid just fine.”

“Then stop being so fucking jealous each time Patrick doesn’t look at you two.” There’s less bite behind Joe’s words than there should be. He’s accusing the twins, and yet he sounds guilty. “Patrick is his own person, and you two are seriously pissing him off. Correction, you’re pissing _all_ of us off by freaking out our fucking lead singer who has enough going on as it is.”

Hands balled into fists, Pete looks away. Joe doesn’t get it. There’s no _him_ , no _Patrick_ , singular. Just _them_.

Lewis buries his head in his brother’s lap, nuzzles his nose against the warm stripe of skin where Pete’s shirt has ridden up. Joe doesn’t get it. They don’t want to hurt Patrick. They love him. They just want the best for him, always. They would never hurt him. They couldn’t, they wouldn’t, never. Never. Never. Lewis isn’t sure if they have taken their meds today. Insomnia lets days blur seamlessly together. It doesn’t matter, because the van stops, and as soon as the twins stumble out of the van, they throw up on the cracked concrete of the dimly-lit gas station.

 

City after city. State after state. Stage after stage. But home is where the heart is, and Patrick is always with them.

 

Eventually, they do end up back in their apartment, the one Patrick had talked about moving out of, to move in together with Anna. So far, he hasn’t. That has to be a good sign, right?

 

Joe is passed out in his room somewhere, tired from touring and tired from the weed. The smell lingers in the apartment, but the three boys next door don’t mind at all.

Clothes are scattered all over the floor, empty husks of fabric, their owners on the twin-sized bed, happy to be naked.

Finally, they have time alone, time that doesn’t have to be stolen moments in between sets, in cheap motel rooms and the backroom of the van, always pried away from someone else’s hand.

Finally, Patrick is all theirs.

 

Pete is kissing him, hand on Patrick’s cock, hard already under his touch. Patrick’s skin smells like soap, unusual cleanliness after weeks on the road in a van, with a tang of salt and musk, the first hints of arousal, the scent of home. The mattress dips, announcing that Lewis is back with the lube and something else.

“Look at you,” he coos as he hands his twin the lube, then turns on the camera. “Fuck, Patrick, you look so fucking beautiful.”

Patrick smiles proudly, and although the twins aren’t allowed to catch his face on camera when he’s so exposed, it’s a beautiful tableau. A stretch of peach skin, a line of bronze hair down from his navel, the dark pink tip of his cock peeking out of Pete’s fist. Pete’s other hand is digging into the soft flesh of Patrick’s left thigh, nudging them apart a little, teasing what’s between. Snap, snap. Patrick is all theirs. They want him to be happy, but it’s so hard to share.

Camera now carelessly discarded, Lewis smacks a kiss to Pete’s cheek, throws an arm over his brother’s shoulder, his other hand on Patrick’s right thigh. He wants to squeeze hard, twin bruises from twin hands, identical imprints of their love on Patrick. But Patrick hisses, shakes his head in objection. Lewis frowns, but Pete is already eager for something else.

“Can we fuck you?” Pete asks, his voice smooth and dark as black silk, his breath a ghost over Patrick’s blushing skin. “We missed you, Trickster.”

“Just spent weeks on the road with you,” Patrick answers, cold words betrayed by heated moans.

Lewis reaches for the lube, slicks up his fingers. “The stage is yours, and we want the world to see you,” he says softly, hand sliding between Patrick’s legs. “The whole world will be yours, Patrick. But you – you’re _ours_.”

Patrick just moans again, too caught up with kissing, too focused on the two fingers Lewis snuck inside of him already.

“We want you,” Pete whispers, his hands snaking around Patrick’s wrist, pinning them down to keep him from touching himself. “All of you, and we’ve missed _this_ for so long.”

Before Lewis can get his turn with kissing, Patrick wriggles himself out of Pete’s grip and pushes him aside, reaches for his jeans on the floor. He pulls out a little strip of silver from its pockets; condoms. Why? Why?

“Why?!” Pete growls, a flash of anger making him furrow his brows.

“If you wanna fuck me, you’re gonna use it, period.” Patrick waves the condom again to underline his statement. “I just spent weeks on the road with four other dudes being unshowered, sweaty, and disgusting, I’m done with that for now.”

It sounds almost plausible. But since when does Patrick care? Since when are the twins dirty?

Lewis takes the condom anyway. It makes Patrick smile, and that makes Lewis forget his objections for now. If this is what Patrick needs, fine. The twins won’t deny their loved ones their happiness.

Since Lewis is taking the first turn, Pete sits down next to him, patient for his opportunity to gain the best out of their situation. The condom on Lewis’ dick throws the balance off just a little. He watches with glee as Lewis lays on his back, drags Patrick on top of him; watching as his brother’s dick slides into Patrick is almost as good as fucking Patrick himself. But only _almost_.

 

Patrick’s legs straddle Lewis’ lap, and his hand is on Lewis throat; for a fraction of a second, the mood changes, and the temperatures drops to something matching the ice-cold blue of Patrick’s widened eyes.

 

The spell is broken when Pete interferes, brushing Patrick’s hand off his twin’s throat. “Careful,” he mutters, and Patrick shakes his head, puts his hand on Lewis’ chest instead. Just a small hiccup, gone as fast as it came. Everything is fine.

“I’m bored,” Pete announces, half-lidded eyes staring accusingly at his brother.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Patrick says miffed, the blush on his face blooming into a darker red. “I’m fucking your goddamn brother right in front of your eyes, and you’re _bored_?”

Lewis sticks his tongue out at Pete. He knows his brother isn’t being malicious, but his careless words can easily throw off the fragile balance they have with Patrick right now. “Not happy with watching, fine. Just don’t be a dick, Pete.”

Pete catches the drift, nuzzles his head against Patrick’s neck, kisses an apology to sweat-soaked skin. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I just wanna _do_ something. Turn around, Patrick...”

Patrick nods, compliant like he usually is during sex, no matter how snarky he likes to be.

With a small groan he sits up, lets Lewis’ cock slide out of him before he rearranges himself to Pete’s wishes. Patrick turns around, and Lewis digs his hand into Patrick’s firm cheeks, spreads him open to watch as his dick disappears back into Patrick’s slick little hole. Oh, it’s so tempting to sneak in another finger, pry Patrick open even further, force him to take even more, more, _everything_ that they have to give him… Before Patrick has taken in his full length, Lewis thumbs over his rim, presses the tip of his index finger against it. Patrick gasps, but doesn’t protest, just sinks down further, further, further, until Lewis’ cock is buried up to the hilt in his tight heat, tighter than usual with the extra finger wiggled in. It feels so fucking good, despite the latex barrier.

“Enough,” Patrick hisses when Lewis experimentally rests a second finger against his entrance; Lewis decides not to push his luck.

“Enough?” Pete echoes, the smirk on his face matching his brother’s. He puts one hand on Patrick’s hips, lets the other stroke over Patrick’s dick. It’s hard and heavy in his grip, leaking pre-cum over Pete’s fingers. “I don’t think you’ve had enough yet.”

“Then shut the fuck up and give it to me,” Patrick pants as he arches his back, tries to grind closer to Pete, in search for friction, touching, anything. He squirms a little, clearly not yet used to the additional finger up his ass; Pete’s hand on his hip holds him in place, stops him from shying away, and Pete’s hand around his cock soon eases Patrick up enough to start moving.

 

Once Patrick finds a rhythm, rolls his hip in sync to the thrust of Lewis’ hips, Lewis can’t help but groan. It’s too fucking good, and realizing that Patrick can’t see his face, Lewis goes for encouraging words instead. “C’mon, yeah, that’s good…” Another thrust into Patrick’s tight heat, another compliment on Lewis’ lips, but Pete speaks up first.

“So fucking good,” Pete repeats, feels how Patrick glows with the compliment, peach-soft skin on his cheeks a pretty shade of dark pink. Spit-wet lips are caught between teeth, and Pete swallows Patrick’s sweet moans and shallow cries, kisses praise to Patrick’s mouth, strokes love and lust into Patrick’s cock.

“I’m gonna come,” Patrick pants, writhing against Pete’s chest, “fuck, I – I’ll –“

Patrick breaks off, sinks his nails into Lewis’ thighs hard enough to make him hiss. The delicious tinge of pain mixes well with the delicious sensation of Patrick’s orgasm, and it takes all of Lewis’ self-restraint to not come with him as Patrick clenches tight around him, holding on to him and Pete as he rides out his orgasm. Just a little longer, just a tiny bit longer, Lewis doesn’t want to go back to the cruelty of the real world yet.

Then, Patrick slumps forward, head resting on Pete’s shoulder, a role reversal from their play on stage. A trembling hand reaches for Pete’s dick, starts to jerk him off with less finesse than usual; it doesn’t matter, because everything else about the situation far makes up for it. Little stuttered moans fall from Patrick’s lips each time Lewis thrusts into him, and his grip around Pete’s cock tightens almost painfully each time the cock and finger up his own ass brush against his prostate. Pete gathers him closer, presses heated naked flesh against his own. When he peeks over Patrick’s shoulder, he can watch Lewis’ face; eyes closed, lips moving with silent words, beads of sweat like translucent pearls. Pete grins at the sight, and then Patrick twists his hand just right, making Pete come with a loud cry as he spills all over Patrick’s belly.

Lewis knows the dream must come to an end, no matter how desperately he holds on to Patrick’s hips. The bright, ecstatic sparks behind closed eyelids as he comes lets him forget about what awaits him when he opens his eyes again for just a little longer.

 

While Lewis is still caught up in his afterglow, his twin and their shared lover are already one step ahead. Patrick lays down next to Lewis with a muttered swear, pretty lips in a pout. “Forgot how fucking sore this makes me,” he mumbles in an annoyed voice. “Thanks for making it even worse, asshole. As if sitting in a van for hours wasn’t already bad enough.”

“You enjoyed it,” Lewis says sleepily, lightly kicks his brother’s shin. “Pete’s gonna clean us up.”

Patrick says nothing, just huffs in response. Sensing the delicate mood, Pete doesn’t protest, just gets up to grab the next best shirt to wipe away the residue of lube and jizz on their bodies, pries the condom off his twin’s dick. It’s thrown to the floor together with the dirty shirt, out of sight, but its pesky presence not entirely forgotten.

“You’re home now,” Pete says quietly, only semi-serious; Patrick has been home the whole time, because he’s been with them. Where else could home be? “No more van driving. Just stay with us in bed. Don’t move, don’t worry, don’t… Don’t.” _Don’t leave us, ever_ , is what Pete isn’t saying. _Don’t dare to abandon us,_ is what Lewis wants to add.

The unsaid words don’t reach Patrick’s mind. “Can’t,” he says as he sits up, groans as he reaches for his boxers. “I’m seeing Anna later. I’ve missed her. We haven’t seen each other for so long, and I’m tired of just having her as a text message on my phone.”

 

The twins stay quiet as they watch him gather his clothes, then head off to the shower. So that’s what the condom was for, so that he could fuck his girlfriend in peace, could let her suck his dick without having to worry about someone else’s semen leaking out of him. Is that what makes him happy?

 

A worse thought blooms in the twins – are _they_ still making Patrick happy? Or are they merely a burden, a tolerated, worn-out habit, a broken puzzle piece that no longer fits Patrick’s world? When have things shifted, when did everything spiral out of control? When did everything start to be so wrong?

 

It’s not fair. It’ just not fair. All they wanted was to make things right.

 

Patrick doesn’t come back that evening, and the twins feel sick. The pills aren’t helping, they never do, so they remain forgotten in their bags somewhere. Instead, Joe is generous enough to share his weed, and generous enough to tolerate their bad mood, but that’s not helping either. When they stumble into their bed at night, they can still smell Patrick on their sheets. He smells like home to them, but does _his_ home still include Pete and Lewis?

 

What if three is simply too much?

 

Their bad mood spreads like cancer. Their sickness and insanity are poisoning everyone. The atmosphere is tense as they sit in the van again, on their way to shoot a music video.

The crash comes out of nowhere. No dramatic build up, no heroic last words, no time to prepare for the impact. One second, everything is fine, the next thing Pete and Lewis know is that everyone is screaming, that there is terrifying noise, loud and shrill and monstrous.

Metal bends and humans scream.

When his brain has overcome the first wave of shock, Pete reaches out – Lewis is next to him, squeezes his hand in reassurance that Pete doesn’t need. Where else would Lewis be if not at his side?

Words and voices don’t make sense yet, but confirm that everyone is at least alive and more or less well. Snow greets them outside, cold and wet, soaking their converse and the van’s remains. The twins don’t care. They stumble out of the car wreck, and then, into Patrick’s arms.

“Holy shit,” Andy whispers, clearly shaken up, yet impressed with the whole situation. He’s the first to speak, the twins too busy hugging Patrick, Joe too busy throwing up by the nearest tree.

Patrick is breathing hard, but he hugs back, seemingly unhurt. The twins smear blood over his deathly-pale cheek when they kiss him.

“I could’ve died,” they hear him say, more surprised than afraid. He’s nineteen with no concept of mortality yet, the brush with death surreal to him.

“You didn’t,” Pete mumbles as he nuzzles his head into Patrick’s scarf, staining it with more red.

“Never,” Lewis whispers, “ _never_.”

 

Andy is the first to regain his composure. Not soon after, he’s arranged for help, contacted the label and everyone else important, and made sure their equipment is accounted for. Joe leans against the broken van now, his stomach now emptied. There’s no blood on him, even though his gray face and the terror on his face tell that he’s not entirely unharmed. Pete and Lewis have let go of Patrick, who keeps babbling something to himself, not yet over his encounter with danger. They intend to help Andy – they’re sort of the adults here, feeling a rare sense of responsibility – until their recording equipment emerges from the pile of clutter left in the van.

A perverse sense of excitement floods Pete as he points the small digital camera at Joe, who’s unaware his despair is immortalised on a pixelated screen forever. Misery looks so beautiful. There’s a reason people can’t tear their eyes away from the sight of an accident, right?

Patrick notices, frowns, his bloodied hands balled into fists. “You’re such fucking assholes,” he whispers; when he wipes his hand over his eyes, it leaves a tell-tale red stain right next to the one on his cheek.

 

Later that evening the band is accommodated in a nice motel, paid for by the label, nicer than a lot of the motels they’ve been in so far. Andy is in the shower, and Joe fell asleep already, unnaturally fast and quiet. He’s the one most shaken up by the crash, and when he had asked Pete and Lewis for a little sleeping aid earlier that night, how could they deny? Poor boy deserves some peace, and Lewis doesn’t mind having to skip on chewing down more hated pharmaceuticals. They certainly don’t mind the alone time with Patrick either, who’s laying in Lewis’ lap, attended by both the twins.

“My binder was in that van,” Patrick says weakly, the first thing he’s said so far ever since they’ve checked in. “Everything I’ve written…”

“Don’t worry,” Lewis whispers, gently strokes his face, wet from the shower and the tears.

Pete’s hand joins his twin’s, offering reassurance and comfort as he whispers: “We’ll write you better ones.”

Then, Andy comes out of the shower, and that ends their little cuddling session.

 

The van may have crashed, but the world around them still stands. For Fall Out Boy, things only go up, up, up.

More tours are booked, festivals to be played. The dawn of success shines gold upon them, and each time the twins scream into the mic at the end of Saturday, the world looks a little brighter.

Apparently, not bright enough.

Fame is not a mountain to climb up. It’s a bottomless black hole to fall into. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. The shoots, the gigs, the money, nothing is ever enough. The twins don’t take their pills, but that doesn’t help the dread either.

Since the lead singer is neither interested nor very promising to be able to be groomed into a shiny, polished little cover boy, the label has even more interest in what the twins have to offer.

 

New words get stuck to Pete and Lewis. Words like _marketable_ and _gimmick_ and _selling point_. Suddenly, their brotherhood is something desirable, something special, its weirdness something good for once. They’re advised to stand closer together, hug each other, stand next to each other at interviews, perfect mirrors of one another. Smile and laugh and give the public a small tease of that perverse little shudder beneath. And Pete and Lewis do exactly that.

 

The world demands more. Better image, better press, better profit margin, better songs, better everything.

 

The twins grin and talk and look pretty for someone else’s camera. They write and write and write, because that next album is supposed to come soon. They stand on stage and play and scream and sneak a kiss from Patrick now and then, yet another piece of perversion suddenly deemed profitable. Nights are spent with Patrick whenever possible, three naked bodies desperate for each other until Patrick pulls away, inevitably, every single time, because the twins aren’t enough. Nothing is ever enough. The twins don’t take their pills, until one night on an aimless drive through the town, sleep forgotten, and their bed left empty.

Pete is driving, Lewis leaning on his shoulder. “We should crash the car,” Pete says, only half-joking. “Let it join the van in the automobile afterlife.”

“No more noise,” Lewis whispers back, “I just want everything to be fucking quiet for a while.”

“We could sink it in the lake,” Pete offers, his voice quiet and with more sincerity than there should be. “Drag it to the bottom like we do with everyone else.”

“They’d be better off.” Lewis watches as the streets pass by, flashes of lights and neon signs. “No more troublemaking. Andy can find a better gig. Joe can stop worrying. Patrick can be happy. We’ve done the best we can, didn’t we? Maybe that van crash was a sign.” The darkness of the night is suffocating. “Maybe we should spare everyone more misery. Maybe we should’ve died.”

Pete smiles faintly. “We still can.”

There’s not enough of the twins to make the world accept them, but enough pills for the both of them to let them stop having to try.

It seems so clear, so easy at that moment. Lewis chews, despite his disgust, the bitter taste now a promise of sweet relief. Pete swallows, more and more and more. When they kiss, acidic white taints their tongues. Reality dissolves around them, but Lewis is one step behind his brother, he’s had less, and as he watches his twin’s body go limp, panic sparks.

Lewis has had less, so he’s the one able to pick up the phone. He calls Patrick.

Patrick doesn’t pick up.

Lewis’ speech slurs as he holds the phone closer to his ear, his hand cold and sweaty. He talks and talks and talks until the cold mechanical beep announces the end of the recorded message on the mailbox. The sharp sound rings in Lewis’ ears as the rest of the world falls silent.

 

 

When the world comes back, so does the noise, full-force and relentless.

The continuous _beep beep beep_ of the screen that keeps announcing their failure in the quest for silence and safety. The doctors and nurses and therapist and their endless questions, endless talking, there’s so many words and no one ever fucking listens. Their parents, with confusion and disappointment, fear and lack of understanding in their voices. The band, Andy and Joe and Patrick, all clearly very uncomfortable with the situation as they stumble through the same set of questions, pleas, doubts, and the prosaic announcement that they’ll still have to go on tour, that everything is set up and paid for and that fans are waiting for them.

What is there to do but agree?

The hospital is miserable. Everything smells like piss and death, like hours upon hours of loneliness. The twins have to stay in separate beds. They try to fight it, try to sneak out at night, IV’s and tubes in their hands, noses, wherever be damned. All it does is make the doctors raise their eyebrows and prescribe more sedatives, it makes Mom cry and Dad shake his head, makes the band ask them to please just cooperate, they’re worried ( _everyone_ is so fucking _worried_ all the time). At least Joe says so; Patrick, standing behind him, says nothing. So the twins stays silent as well.

 

When they’re released, it’s decided that they stay with their parents. Once again they end up in their own beds, each twin in a separate bed, because that’s what Mom and Dad want from them. Yet another failed expectation.

Lewis cries, his head in Mom’s lap; he cries for Pete, too. Mom caresses his cheek and mumbles sweet words. She’s always liked him better, Lewis knows, because she can deal with crying and sobbing, she likes to comfort, likes to have proof of feelings in the form of tears and snot. Unlike Dad, who sits next to Pete’s bed, hand awkwardly on his son’s shoulder. He prefers the son bearing his name, the one that doesn’t cry, the firstborn who’s always been just a little better at faking normalcy.

Once they’ve left, Pete sits up. The floor is cold under his feet, but Lewis is warm and soft and still crying. Lewis _needs_ him. It’s been so long since they shared a bed, just the two of them, but when Pete slides under the blanket, finally hugs his twin the way they’ve always done, something falls back into place. The suffocating blanket of sadness finally lifts, and underneath, their old anger rears its head.

Screw the world that wants to tear them apart. Screw the world that told them they’re unwanted. Screw the world that wanted to destroy them; it’s Pete and Lewis who will set fire to every inch of it. “Fuck all of them,” Pete whispers into Lewis’ ear, “we will never give up again.”

 

 

Pete and Lewis have always been the family’s freakshow, and adding yet another attraction – long overdue in the eyes of many, their failed suicide attempt prophesied at many family gatherings hidden behind concerned looks and hands covering mouths twisted into sickly-amused masks, ridiculed all over the internet now too – bothers them less than expected. Merely another failure ticked off the list. Nothing more than another inconvenient little scandal that someone somewhere at their label is hired to deal with, make it into something romantic and appealing to the public. Just a glimpse into darkness that they want to see, but never want to have unleashed.

Patrick calls from oversees, the static of the distance distorting his voice. He talks of everything and nothing; how surreal it is to tour with almost half the band missing, that they can’t stand the bass player the label assigned them as a replacement, and that Patrick has had barely enough time to take Lewis’ place at the guitar. The twins listen as they drift through the night, dawn, whatever time of day it is, Patrick’s voice keeping them grounded to a reality that’s happening without them. When Pete and Lewis ask him if he’s happy, they don’t get an answer. If their very lives aren’t enough, what else is there to give? There has to be something else. Something more. Just _something_. Helplessness is not a state either of the twins are willing to accept, ever.

 

The days go by, blurring into one another. The band comes back today, that means another awkward visit from them tomorrow, Patrick being silent and turning away… Or so they believe, until they’re proven wrong when late that night, Mom comes into their room, that very same silent Patrick right behind her, all alone.

 

Why didn’t he wait until tomorrow, come with the rest of the band?

 

“He said he couldn’t wait to see you,” Mom says softly, probably taking pity with Patrick. She just sees a small teen who missed his crazy friends. But Pete and Lewis see the hands clutched into tight fists, corner of his mouth twitching.

The moment the door falls shut behind her, an angry boy is in their bed.

 

“How could you,” Patrick’s voice is shaking, “how fucking could you?!”

Yes, he’s furious, oh, he’s upset, and his hands are now twisting into their shirts. Now that the pitiful environment of the hospital is missing, now that death is merely a miserable little memory, Patrick’s no longer the silent, shocked little kid. No, he’s fucking _angry_ , sea-blue eyes glaring, lips bruised red from being bitten.

“You promised me,” Patrick is half screaming, half sobbing, “you fucking promised me!”

Tears fall from his eyes as the twins sit up, trying to comfort him. He’s hissing and thrashing, fists blindly swung against anything, anyone, not necessarily to hurt, just out of a lack of better alternative to deal with this situation. Patrick stutters out more incoherent half-sentences as the twins slowly realize he’s back, he’s really back, and he’s here with them, in their bed, all riddled up and emotional because of them. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?

“How could you just leave?” Patrick asks eventually, some of his anger traded for despair. “why would you – why do you want to leave me behind?”

Pete reaches for Lewis’ hand, for comfort and reassurance. “ _You_ were the one who left,” he says quietly. “ _You_ went out and got Anna, _you_ just fucking left for a tour in another country, you, _you-!_ ”

The sentence remains unfinished forever. Pete is cut off by Patrick’s lips, harsh words traded for a frantic kiss, fists unclenched to caress his face. Before Lewis can say anything, Patrick turns to him, drags him into a fervent kiss as well.

“You promised me the world,” Patrick whispers when their lips finally part, “you said you loved me, you said _we, us, together_ – don’t you fucking dare to break your promises like that ever again!” The tough words are belied by the tears, the way his lips are quivering, the storm-gray fear in his eyes. Lewis gathers him against his chest; he’s usually the one who cries, the one comforted by Pete, so it’s nice to give back for once.

 

“We didn’t mean to break our promise,” Pete says, forehead leaning against the curve of Patrick’s trembling shoulder, “we thought we’d keep it that way.”

“You were so unhappy, weren’t you?” Lewis asks quietly, hand stroking over Patrick’s sweaty blond hair. “Don’t you want us to do everything to make you happy?”

“I didn’t want this,” Patrick blurts out between two sobs. “Don’t – don’t ever do this again. I love you. I need you. I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry – I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Lewis mumbles, pulls him closer as he continues to soothingly stroke his hair, “we love you too.”

Pete gives a soft kiss to Patrick’s neck, cuddles closer to them. “We love you, Patrick.”

 

Eventually, Patrick calms down a little, sits up again. He wipes over his eyes, now clear of agony and sadness. “Andy and Joe will come tomorrow. We just arrived, and I’m so tired, but… I couldn’t wait another second to see you.” He giggles a little. “I was supposed to stay at my mom’s, but I snuck out of my room. Don’t tell my mom? And don’t tell yours I lied to her about being allowed to show up in the middle of the night.”

“We won’t,” Pete assures him with a small laugh.

“Your secrets are always safe with us,” Lewis adds as he lets go of Patrick, pats the mattress in an unmistakable invitation for him to stay.

 

And Patrick doesn’t say no.

 

The three of them together again, in the room where it all started. A new beginning, a reminder of old promises.

Only one more question to ask. Pete clears his throat. “Why were you staying at your mom’s? What about Anna?”

Patrick just shakes his head. “No more,” he whispers softly.

 

For the first time in forever, Pete and Lewis smile for real. They drag him closer, three bodies entwined as one. Them. Us, against the world. Their soft whisper is the last thing Patrick hears before exhaustion lets the poor kid fall asleep.

“Welcome back home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please consider leaving a little comment, it's what keeps me going! :)


	11. Shame Is The Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, I am back! I want to apologize for the mini-hiatus this fic took; I was busy with BBB, birthday and challenge fics, and life just wouldn't let me rest. But I promise that I will never abandon these boys. I have everything planned out and this story is getting finished!
> 
> With that, enjoy the update!

 

 

 

 

Fall Out Boy – or rather, half of them – is touring the UK.

 

It feels strange without the twins, it’s so silent, the shadows of the two missing bandmates looming over everyone. A constant black cloud in the corner of Patrick’s eye, a heavy weight on his shoulders, a never-ending reminder of guilt and regret and anger.

Fall Out Boy is down two members, and Patrick is without guidance, without shared warmth of the twins, and he’s also without his girlfriend, left behind on another continent while he chases his dreams.

 

But the only thing Patrick can find are the nightmares.

 

Patrick feels so fucking angry.

 

He hates the bassist they were assigned by the label, he hates the band they’re touring with, he hates being treated like a fragile little child even though it was the twins who went out and did something stupid, he hates how much his heart aches each time he hears their voices dimmed through the phone, fading shooting stars over a dark ocean.

Lewis’ guitar hangs around his neck like a dead weight, choking him; it’s a visible reminder of shame that Patrick has to carry. Sure he’s wanted to play an instrument, but not like this. Not under these circumstances. He didn’t want it thrusted into his arms because his two best friends tried to die, and someone from the label decided it was cheaper to have Patrick take over the guitar than to send yet another replacement on tour with the scandal band. This guitar isn’t his to play, and Patrick despises every note he plays on it. It doesn’t help that he’s only hastily prepared, just a little out of practice, he hasn’t really expected to be playing an unfamiliar guitar on stage in a foreign country anytime soon. He plays, because what else is there to do, clutching the instrument like a shield, praying the crowd won’t notice his mistakes.

Later, after the shows, in the darkness of the night in a moving bus or small motel room, Patrick cries over every imperfect part he played, over every time he missed a beat, every out-of-tune note, over the gruesome ways the instrument was forced upon him. Patrick wants to apologize, but the twins are an ocean away from him, and everyone else is annoyed by his constant perfectionism. They don’t get why Patrick’s upset, so Patrick stops trying to explain.

Even Anna doesn’t get it, she just gets more and more annoyed as Patrick tries to explain his pain. There’s jealousy in her voice, and they get in fights as she keeps complaining Patrick cares too much about Pete and Lewis, and too little about her. It always ends with her crying, with Patrick trying to explain (fuck, he is so fucking tired of trying to explain things), but she whispers I love you, that she just wants Patrick to be happy, sounding tiny and helpless. It only disappoints Patrick more; the twins always have an answer to everything.  Anna has none. She just has more questions. He misses having answers, being secure. He misses _them,_ Pete and Lewis, every part of them.

 

Anna wants him to be happy?

 

Patrick isn’t sure what happy is anymore.

 

All he knows is that he’s lonely, that the girl he loves and the boys he loves even more are thousands of miles away from him, and that the bed is so very empty. His heart is aching, and so is his dick.

Anna wants him to be happy, right? Patrick knows the twins would. Pete and Lewis would agree with him on this, they wouldn’t want him to be lonely, to stand around in the corner all by himself watching the assholes they’re touring with hitting on underage fans while Andy is already off with whomever he has picked up that night and Joe either tries his luck or hovers around Patrick, worried, always so goddamn worried, Patrick is so _tired_ of all these worries all the time.

And Patrick is just so fucking angry.

How dare the twins leave him all alone in this scary world? How dare Pete and Lewis break their words, how could they not see that Patrick loves them, wants them, needs them? How could they, how could they, how could they…?!

So, after the next concert, Patrick slips away with the next-best girl who makes her intentions obvious enough. Andy is god knows where and Joe is high, no one notices Patrick’s absence either way. The girl is pretty, too pretty for him, Patrick thinks, but she doesn’t seem bothered and he doesn’t care. Life owes him a little bit of relief, and a little bit of fun, which all comes in the form of careless giggles and smiles, careful kisses and touches, calculated whispers and moans.

 

“I have a girlfriend,” he mumbles afterwards as he watches her gather her clothes. The girl just laughs.

“I’m not the keeper of your morals,” she says lightheartedly as she puts her shirt back on. Patrick frowns as he watches her leave. It was never this difficult with the twins. He never had to worry with Pete and Lewis.

No, Pete and Lewis know what’s right and what’s wrong, they can explain the world and its complicated rules, they can sooth his guilty conscience and throbbing cock with sweet words from even sweeter mouths. They would never leave him like that, cold and shivering on rumpled sheets in a cheap motel room somewhere in a foreign country, questioning his decisions, all alone and confused.

No, Pete and Lewis always have an answer, and Patrick misses them with all his heart.

It doesn’t stop the anger; it brews inside of Patrick, only gets worse with each time he sleeps with someone else, each time they don’t know how to answer any of his questions, can’t soothe his worries, leave him strangely unsatisfied no matter what happened in bed. No, none of them want to bear the weight of the world with him.

 

And Patrick is still so fucking angry, but slowly, that anger turns against himself as well.

 

How couldn’t he see how much Pete and Lewis do for him, how hard they fight, how heavy the burden on their shoulders is? How couldn’t he appreciate the love they give, the trust they offer, how willing they are to always extend a helpful hand, no matter what Patrick needs it for? How could he not realize that all the twins ever wanted was to protect him, to see him happy?

 

How could he ever be so ungrateful?

 

Patrick is so fucking angry, and he misses Pete and Lewis so much.

 

There are boys, too, fewer and farer in between the group of girls, but Patrick tries to pay them no attention. Somehow, sleeping with a guy seems more of a betrayal to Pete and Lewis, and Patrick doesn’t want to betray them any more than he already has. Besides… Somehow, sleeping with Pete and Lewis is one thing, but with someone else? Patrick isn’t like that, he’s – he’s not like that, okay? He likes _girls_ , he likes tits and pussy and okay, he likes the two twins, but only because they’re special. Because they’re Pete and Lewis, and everybody regardless of gender falls in love with them. He’s not the ugly gay guy, the fat little twink, he’s not the band faggot, he _isn’t_ and has no intention of ever being that. And with the twins being his, Patrick never needs to acknowledge this unwanted side of himself ever again.

 

Instead, he sticks to the girls; there aren’t many, but enough, following the tour, and there’s almost always someone willing to share their time and body with him. It gives Patrick the high he’s missed for so long, a boost in confidence that his awkward teenage self never had. Not too long ago, no one but the twins and his small-town girlfriend had ever paid much attention to him; it makes Patrick feel a little worthier of the two beautiful brothers waiting for him back home.

It makes him realize how Anna has slowly slipped out of his life, then out of his mind. She doesn’t understand, never could, and she can’t be there for him like Pete and Lewis can. Isn’t a regular but boring life with her worth being traded for the fierce and loyal love of the twins?

Patrick thinks the answer may be yes.

They still talk on the phone from time to time, and Patrick stumbles over his own tongue, never knows what to say. Patrick is tired of lying to her. She’s so surreal, he can’t grasp her or the concept of a life with her anymore. The twins are shooting stars, but Anna is just a quiet little star that silently imploded on the night sky, vanishing from memory forever.

It’s no better when he tries to communicate with Pete and Lewis. He misses them so much, do they know? Do they care? Do they still love him? But none of these questions can be answered on the phone, and the possibility of the answer being ‘no’ is too hurtful to even think of. The conversations are kept light, and Patrick’s heart grows heavier and heavier.

 

A million things are on his mind when the tour is over, the whole flight is spent drifting into semi-consciousness as he both dreads and yearns for the reunion with Pete and Lewis. Entire symphonies are composed and abandoned, poetry constructed only to be destroyed, words strung together only to be discarded, worthless. Patrick can’t wait, Patrick can’t wait, Patrick can’t wait, he’s vibrating out of his skin and slips out of his mom’s loving and concerned hug first chance he gets.

 

He’s told Anna not to come, that he would be too tired and dirty and too out of it, that they could meet tomorrow. Anna didn’t sound too happy, her voice tiny and fading, her messages short and angry. Patrick can’t bring himself to care.

 

Whatever Patrick had wanted to say, it vanishes the second the twins’ mom (to which he lied, Patrick is getting really good at lies these days) gently guides him to their room, says something about Pete and Lewis being more stable and having to be careful and about her worrying about her children, all of which Patrick doesn’t register one single word of.

 

Patrick doesn’t remember much about their reunion, he remembers anger and tears, soothing words and soothing hands before exhaustion let him collapse in the twins’ bed, wedged between the two too familiar bodies.

 

Patrick missed them. Patrick missed them so, so much, like a part of himself had been cut off, a piece of his heart torn out.

 

Never does he want to miss Pete and Lewis like that again. Ever.

 

And Patrick knows he doesn’t have to.

 

 

He breaks up with Anna, that much spine Patrick has left. It’s a quiet end, with him shuffling awkward on his feet and her crying silently into the sleeves of the sweater she stole from him before the band went on tour. In Patrick’s mind, a whole future dies, memories of things that never happened flash before his inner eye: their first apartment together, holding hands and having hasty sex when she visits him on tour, a golden ring on her finger, a matching one on his. Highschool sweethearts and eternal love and a suburban house, the all-American dream he never got to dream with Anna. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to turn to someone who’ll _actually_ make his dreams come true, and that person isn’t Anna.

 

It hurts a little that Anna is gone, but in truth, the relief outweighs the pain. Patrick is tired of having to lie to her, tired of excuses and semi-truth and sacrificing so much for the love of a girl who will never understand Patrick’s way of loving.

 

It’s okay, it’s fine, it’s totally the right decision, that’s what Pete and Lewis confirm.

 

 

“She didn’t deserve you,” is what Pete whispers when Patrick fled to their room after the breakup, the three of them huddled together in the childhood bed meant for only one person. Strong arms are holding him, warm mouths give him soft kisses, four hands do everything to calm him down. Two identical pairs of brown eyes only see him, Patrick, as they try to comfort him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lewis says softly, his lips (or at least, Patrick thinks they’re his – he’s lost track of time and space) caressing Patrick’s skin and his words soothing the tempest in his heart.

Still, the doubts linger. “I slept with other people,” Patrick confesses in a small voice; he’s never outright told anyone, although he suspects Anna knew. She may not have grasped his bond with the twins, but she understood everything else. “I slept with other girls. But I was – I was just so fucking lonely, and nothing made sense and – I missed you two.” He’s babbling, he’s an incoherent mess, wonders for the first time what Anna really must’ve thought about her boyfriend “hanging out” with the groupies while she’s at home, alone, waiting. Would she really have been happy? And if not, does it mean she deliberately wanted him to be unhappy rather than to seek something or someone to soothe the ache in his heart?

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says between two choked-back sobs, “they all meant nothing, but I’m still so, so sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s sorry, he doesn’t even really know why he’s apologizing, he just knows he needs forgiveness, absolution, from the only two people that matter. Bloodshot teary eyes look up to the gentle smile mirrored perfectly on the twins’ faces.

 

“It’s okay,” Pete answers with a chuckle, leans down to kiss Patrick’s quivering lips. Lewis strokes his hair as he repeats after his brother: “It’s okay. You still love us, don’t you?”

Patrick wipes over his eyes, clears his throat. “Of course I love you. Always – I never stopped…”

The twins smile at him again, and the last bit of tension in the room vanishes as they drag Patrick down, work out a position that allows the three of them to cuddle together next to each other in a single bed. Fuck, Patrick can’t wait until they earn enough money to say goodbye to these small beds forever.

“We love you too,” Lewis whispers against Patrick’s neck, head buried in the curve of his throat.

“We always will,” Pete adds, his head resting on Patrick’s chest, and he looks so fucking beautiful, he sounds so sincere, the effect only doubled by the twin at his side who mirrors both Pete’s look and love for him, him, Patrick, and only him.

With that in mind, Patrick thinks he can find happiness again.

 

Because Fall Out Boy is back together, and back at making music. The band is shipped off to the studio in California for their next album, living in corporate housing. The giant apartment building that smells like old hopes and faded dreams. It feels like the next big step.

Most of his time is spent with the twins, in one way or another; whether they’re all sitting around writing music, laughing, arguing, playing their instruments, or kiss and touch whenever Andy and Joe leave. Patrick always claims to write, always uses the music as an excuse to be together with them, and only far away from most prying eyes of friends and family, he relaxes.

Despite the endless excuses, Andy seems to suspect that something might be going on. But says he isn’t their babysitter, says that as long as they get along, it’s not his problem. He’s here to make music and play in an up-and-coming band with the promise of success. As long as no one is bashing their skulls, Andy looks away; as long as Patrick doesn’t complain, Andy is much happier to get some company himself rather than to care for the sexual adventures of his bandmates.

 Joe is less easily thrown off, which only serves to make Patrick angrier each time Joe asks him if he’s good. Yes, Patrick is good. He is fine. He is better than fine, he’s 21 and in love with two guys who love him back, let him into their small private bubble, want to give him the most exquisite gifts – their love, their trust, every piece of the world and every heart their words win over. No, he doesn’t need Joe’s concern, he doesn’t need worried glances, he doesn’t need lectures and the endless accusations of “ _come on, you’re gay for the Wentz twins, aren’t you_ ”. It’s no one else’s business but theirs. And he can’t take the bad conscience when Joe asks in a hushed voice if everything is fine, if the twins aren’t hurting him or playing around with him too much, because how dare Joe assume Patrick is so stupid? He’s not, he can hold his ground against the two brothers, he isn’t a baby. How dare Joe think so lowly of Pete and Lewis, the men who love and care so much for Patrick? How could the twins ever hurt him? Pete and Lewis _love_ him, and if anyone got hurt it’s the twins, who barely escaped death.

Joe just doesn’t understand. No one understands. The distance between Patrick and the people around him grows taller, but it’s worth it for the safety and comfort he has in Pete’s and Lewis’ company, it’s worth it for the smile and kisses and the twins’ love behind the closed doors and walls they’re hiding, real or metaphorical, it’s worth it for the heated touches, the passionate sharing of bodies, the way it makes Pete and Lewis happy.

 

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” Patrick says one night; the twins are next to him on the bed, Pete writing, Lewis playing around with his guitar. The album is almost done, the twins are dutifully taking their pills, the label loved what the band played them, the first single is picked, and things are looking up. But the higher they rise, the deeper Patrick knows he can fall.

The twins look up to him, then at each other, and the next second, the twins have abandoned their instruments and notebooks as they cuddle up to Patrick. There are kisses, from Pete and Lewis, Patrick has learned it makes no difference, all that matters is that they kiss him. Him. _Him_.

“Why would we ever leave you?” Pete says softly, lips brushing against Patrick’s neck.

“You almost did,” Patrick mumbles, hand on Pete’s back, drawing him closer.

“We’ll never do that again…” Lewis rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, his hand meeting Patrick’s on Pete’s back. “Whatever we do, we’ll do to make you happy.”

Patrick swallows hard, and the fear in his chest makes it hard to breathe. “What if there’s something you can’t do for me?” He whispers anxiously. “I want… I want a family. I want children one day. How would that work? I marry just one of you?”

“No way,” Pete interrupts him, sits up to send Patrick a frown. “You take us both, or you get nothing at all.”

“You can’t marry just one of us.” Lewis sighs as he traces a pattern on the back of Patrick’s hand. “Even if… That would be too suspicious. The brother in-law, always hanging around the married couple? That’s… No. And the kids would be a liability, too...”

“I already said no way,” Pete repeats in a low voice. “We share. It’s the two of us together, or nothing at all.”

Those are the last and final words on the matter, Patrick knows; and he also knows that Lewis always, _always_ agrees with Pete anyway. Thoughtful silence lingers between the three of them, and Patrick can hear his own heartbeat as the panic intensifies. He wants the twins, he loves Pete and Lewis, never, never ever is he going to abandon them, ever. But his other dreams, the family, the children, a lovely wife at his side – because, truth is, Patrick always pictured his spouse to be a nice, socially acceptable _wife_ , not a dark-haired, troublesome husband – no, Patrick doesn’t want to abandon those dreams, he doesn’t want to choose between the twins and everything else.

Pete places his head on Patrick’s lap, legs draped over Lewis, and there’s a silent conversation between the twins that Patrick doesn’t get.

“We want you happy. One day… Find yourself a good girl,” Pete whispers after a while, head turned to Patrick now. 

“She can have you,” Lewis says in a low voice, “but we _own_ you. We will share, but you belong to us. With us. Always and forever.”

“ _Us_ ,” Pete repeats as he reaches up to Patrick’s face, “ _us_ and us alone. Don’t you agree?”

Patrick can’t stop himself from smiling; out of sheer relief, out of joy and love because the two men he loves most always know what he needs. “I agree,” he whispers back, and Pete sits up, there’s a kiss pressed to Patrick’s face, “I agree,” he repeats and there’s another kiss, two pairs of hands, two twins, three hearts beating in synch to the symphony of one shared love, “I agree – fuck, I love you both so much…”

No more words are necessary, and their silent deal is sealed with kisses, signed with their lifeblood, a shiny golden star upon the dark firmament of Patrick’s heart.

 

The dawn on the horizon gets brighter and brighter. The record is almost done. Sugar debuts at number 9 on Billboard, Fall Out Boy is booked for Warped, their old van traded for real tour busses. The crowds are huge, and they’re ecstatic, singing and screaming and Patrick loves every second of it.

 

On stage, he’s always two steps behind the twins, comfortably hidden behind their bodies and their egos. Their escapades and flirtations with the press attracts attention, Pete and Lewis being handsome twins is a selling point that their manager never fails to make good use of.

Patrick sits it out, he does the interviews he has to, while Joe sits awkwardly to the side, shoved halfway in the background, and Andy crosses his arms, uninterested in phony interviews. Sometimes, they want just the twins and Patrick, there’s all kinds of names the three of them get, all of them very impressive and more importantly, very marketable.

 

Most of the time, they just want the twins. And Pete and Lewis take every chance they get to promote the band.

 

There’s articles and interviews on TV and they’re all the same.

 

The moderator giggles, bats her lashes at Pete and Lewis as she asks: “Boys, does either of you have a girlfriend? Or… someone special?” The audience laughs, they always love the implications of homosexuality if it’s consumer-friendly, packed up into two scene kids with their tight shirts and a provocative attitude.

“We don’t,” Pete answers with an exasperated sigh, and the camera pans in on the sadness in his eyes, a pout on his lips that thousands of girls and boys would just love to kiss.

“We don’t,” Lewis repeats, the exact same expression on his face as he leans his head on Pete’s shoulder, he’s close, just a tiny bit too close to his brother like always, “oh, we’re so _lonely_!”

It’s perfect, it’s glorious, and it’s a lie that sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine.

 

“You know we don’t want to lie,” is what the twins always assure him later, when the cameras and mics are gone, when it’s just the three of them in the solitude of a dark corner, a moving bus, a motel room.

Patrick says he doesn’t mind, but doesn’t say why; it’s convenient, easy, keeps the twins a safe haven for him. Pete and Lewis aren’t stupid, they know exactly that they can’t come out to the public as an incestuous love triangle, and so does Patrick. It’s fine, he doesn’t care, and he wants to keep the mud off his name. It’s one thing to be called a big fat homo, it’s another to outright admit he is everything terrible the paps and message boards accuse him of and possibly even worse than that.

 

Patrick likes it best when it’s just the three of them. When it’s Pete and Lewis and him and no one else, when there’s solitude and silence and two pairs of hands stroking him into hardness, like they are right now.

 

“You know we love you,” is what Pete says now, like so many times before. Messy strands of red contrast the black of his hair these days, the same shades that can be found on Lewis’ hair. Because of course, the twins share even their questionable fashion decisions down to the exact same hair dye.

In response, Patrick simply kisses him, slides his hand down to the small of Pete’s back, urges him to arch his back. They’re naked already, Pete a stunning landscape of gold and black beneath Patrick, moaning when their cocks brush against each other. Patrick digs his nails into the scarred skin on his back, he needs Pete to move, keep up the momentum, because the warm, wet tongue trailing over Patrick’s own ass makes it increasingly difficult for him to keep a rhythm.

Lewis is behind him, hands on Patrick’s ass now, spreading him open. Patrick moans, tries to simultaneously rub against Pete’s hard cock and push back against Lewis’ teasing tongue.

“Did she ever do this for you?” Pete asks, incredibly smug for someone who’s pinned against the mattress by two people. “Did she eat your ass like that? Did any of them?”

Of course not; Patrick shakes his head, groans instead of giving an answer. _She_ , that’s always Anna, whom the twins keep declaring inadequate, and _they_ , that’s the faceless flings Patrick had and still has sometimes. She never offered, and Patrick never asked. It seems too vulgar and too gay to ask of a sweet little girlfriend or a casual one-night stand.

And why ask her, or any of them, when he has Pete and Lewis?

 

Two thumbs keep him open as Lewis slides his tongue into him, making Patrick groan again. Beneath him, Pete offers him a shit-eating grin, satisfied with the answer. “They weren’t perfect for you,” Pete whispers, before he pecks a kiss to the corner of Patrick’s mouth, “they weren’t us.”

Patrick can only agree.

Now, Lewis sits up, Patrick hears the cap of the lube bottle being opened, then feels two slicked-up fingers teasing his rim. They slide into him slowly, testing the stretch, waiting for the initial resistance to fade away into a want for more. Lewis’ other hand gently strokes over Patrick’s thigh, the curve of his ass, rubs soothing circles over the small of his back until Patrick moans, pushes back against the fingers inside of him to signify he’s ready for more.

 

“Pete’s needy today,” Lewis chuckles as he slides in a third finger into Patrick, “you wanna give him something to make him shut up?”

“Only if that something is your dick,” Pete says to Patrick while he blindly flips his brother off.

How could Patrick say no to that?

It’s a bit difficult to move while there’s still three of Lewis’ fingers buried inside of him, but somehow, Patrick manages to line up with Pete’s already prepped and slicked-up entrance, sinks the velvet-smoot head of his dick into Pete’s tight heat. Pete gasps, grabs Patrick’s hips to urge him to slide in all the way, makes an irritated noise when Patrick doesn’t.

“C’mon, Patrick, please,” he demands with a wanton moan, which sends a shiver through Patrick’s spine.

“Who else ever did this for you?” Patrick whispers back, half cruelty, half desperation, “did you beg for anybody else? Did you ever want anyone else like you want me?”

Even though he’s looking at Pete, the _you_ includes Lewis, too. Pete’s eyes widen, no doubt mirroring his twin’s facial expression. “Never,” he whispers softly as he brings up a hand to Patrick’s face, wipes away a drop of sweat. “You’re the only one we love.”

“The only one we love,” Lewis repeats in the same sincere voice as his brother, and if Patrick could, he’d kiss him. The position won’t allow it, so he kisses Pete instead, slow and sensual, as he bottoms out. It feels weird, to be inside of Pete while still having three fingers up his own ass, a good kind of weird. The kind he only ever gets to explore with the twins, the spark of debauchery and adventure that no one else ever ignites in Patrick. It’s what always make Patrick want more, what makes him crave the twins in every possible way, what keeps fueling his love for Pete and Lewis. No one else ever did that for him.

 

“We love you, Patrick. Let’s stop being silly,” Lewis whispers, he sounds a little insecure, like he always does when he thinks his twin, always more adventurous even with his words, is going too far with the teasing. It makes Patrick smile, because it reminds him how much Lewis loves him, when he’s even willing to keep a reign on Pete instead of encouraging him, like he’d usually do.

Still, Patrick says: “I’m not being silly…” It’s more for show, more to underline his point than real protest, so he’s not mad when Pete chuckles (only to receive a light slap to the shin from his twin). “Whatever. Let’s get your dick inside of me instead.”

“Yeah,” Pete whines, tries to look over Patrick’s shoulder to stare at Lewis. “Please do that!”

Patrick leans forward as much as possible, tries to arch his back while keeping his cock inside of Pete. Lewis withdraws his fingers, and Patrick can hear the slick sound of lube being applied to naked skin. Then, Lewis presses close to him, guides the head of his cock to Patrick’s wet hole. Patrick holds his breath, tries to relax as much as possible while Lewis pushes in; Patrick is buried to the hilt in Pete already, so there’s nothing he can do but take it. Underneath him, Pete stares at him with hungry eyes, one hand laced with Lewis’ on Patrick’s hip, the other one on his own slightly neglected dick.

 

Sure, Patrick’s had a finger or two inside of him while fucking before, because neither of the twins wants to miss out on anything, but this is different, so much more. Not only is Lewis’ cock a lot more to take physically, it’s a lot more emotionally, too. He’s fucking one of the twins while getting fucked by the other – the duality of sin, forbidden, illicit, immoral in every way possible, and it’s so goddamn fantastic. If Hell exists, Patrick hopes he gets to join the twins there to repeat this act in the afterlife, too.

It takes a moment to figure out how to move, to work out a rhythm with Lewis (who, thankfully, is always better at that than his brother, be it while they play with instruments or their cocks). Small, experimental thrusts first, each of them making Patrick shudder, moan with the overwhelming pleasure. Meanwhile, all that he hears from Pete are breathless little gasps as Patrick starts to move. Pete tries to move his hips as well, but with Patrick on top and Lewis behind that, he can’t do more than to spread his legs a little further.

Once they’ve worked out how to coordinate this new way of having a threesome, the tension in Patrick vanishes, making it possible to focus on the new, astonishing, delightful aspects of it. Pete looks so fucking beautiful, lips parted to let out more sweet sounds, body drenched in sweat, the burning amber in his eyes only fixed on Patrick in amazement, as if he was the prettiest sight Pete has ever seen. Patrick cards his hand through the black-and-red fringe, tugs on it until Pete mewls. He lets go, traces down from Pete’s throat to his chest, follows the line of black hair down to Pete’s cock, where Patrick bats Pete’s hand away to replace it with his own.

The roll of Lewis’ hips is perfectly in time with Patrick; it’s as if he were fucking Pete through Patrick, an enticing thought that makes Patrick thrust even harder into him. He knows Pete must feel the same, he too feels a hard cock filling him up until it almost hurts, he too cries out every time said hard cock drags against his prostate in that brilliant, tempting promise of an orgasm. And he knows that Lewis is chasing that tight, tight clench of an ass, that warmth of being inside someone else, that closeness that they can never find with anyone else.

 

If this is wrong, Patrick doesn’t want to be right.

 

“Patrick,” Pete whines, cock leaking steadily in Patrick’s hand, “Patrick, I – Lewis, please –“

He doesn’t get to end either sentences before he comes with a loud cry, tightening around Patrick’s cock and coating Patrick’s hand and everything between them with stripes of white. Patrick fucks him through it, still chasing his own orgasm, and besides, Lewis is still demanding him to move as well.

Pete is shaking a little, mouth agape and eyes unfocused, overshadowed by black lashes and clouded by the aftershock of his climax. Patrick kisses him roughly, then cups his face with his hand, rubs soothing circles and some cum over Pete’s cheeks.

Lewis picks up speed, his thrusts getting harsher, more desperate, and the growl from the back of his throat makes it clear he won’t last much longer either. Patrick closes his eyes, focuses on nothing else but the two twins so close to him, allows himself to let go.

The orgasm is blinding, breathtaking, short-circuits his brain and makes his heart miss a beat or two; all Patrick can feel is the overwhelming sensation of pleasure, accompanied with a delightful spark of pain, a burst of love and lust. Every inch of his body is on fire as he keeps thrusting into Pete, keeps clenching down around Lewis’ cock as it slams against his prostate. Patrick opens his mouth, but all he can do is whimper the twins’ names like a mantra. He loses his balance, now lays chest to chest on Pete who slings his arms around Patrick, keeps him grounded.

 

Somewhere in a distant plane of existence, he notices how Lewis groans, presses as close to him as possible as he comes, too.

 

They stay like that for a while, until Lewis’ softening cock slides out of Patrick, who rolls off Pete now. Patrick is panting, he’s sweaty and exhausted, spent cock resting on his belly. Pete cuddles up to him, stretches out a leg to kick his brother. “You’re the only one who’s ass isn’t sore,” Pete says with a yawn, “go get a washcloth or something.”

 

Lewis gets up, punches Pete’s arm as he heads for the bathroom. Pete mumbles a curse, but forgoes any fighting to wrap himself around Patrick, who only has a chuckle for the twins’ squabbles. Lewis comes back, and after they’ve rid themselves of sweat and everything else as best as they can, Pete pats the space between Patrick and him. “You got the least attention,” he says to his brother, “wanna be in the middle now?”

With a grin, Lewis accepts the invitation, lays down between them, only to cuddle up to Patrick with a satisfied purr. Patrick laughs, beams with pride because he knows neither Lewis nor Pete would do that for anyone else. And Lewis feels good in his arms, with his lithe body, tousled hair, and his heartbeat right under Patrick’s fingertips.

“So good,” Lewis whispers with a smile, which widens as Pete, in need of body contact himself, spoons him from behind. “We love you so much.” Pete, too tired for words, nods in agreement.

“I love you too,” Patrick whispers back, still filled with pride that of all the people in the world, everyone they’ve met, anyone they’ve been intimate with, the twins fell in love with him and him alone. Only Patrick is allowed into their little Wonderland world, and right here, right now, with Lewis in his arms and Pete’s hand on his hip, Patrick wouldn’t want to ever leave.

The twins stay silent, they don’t need to ask, and Patrick doesn’t need to say it. No, no one else has ever made him feel that way.

 

 

Soon after, the band packs up for Warped again, and Patrick doesn’t know the difference between dream and reality anymore – maybe, he suspects, there isn’t any.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and thank you for reading! Please leave a little comment, it's what keeps me going! :)


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